I cry sometimes. Enhancing this deluge of delirium. With a drop which flows from my face to the flood of Earth’s clay as I inhale this bitter breeze of our garden’s grief! Seeing your withered wood… I breathe deep… Inhale… Exhale…

   And hope that these frivolous feelings will bottle up after this bottle is downed! Words now trapped…it’s a joke…but this is no banter of your basil  bush! This is a garden now growing with grief, which subdues layers of our sacred memories, suppressing sadness and carries on until my rancid lungs collapse…

   But… I don’t die. I just-carry on. Watching your roots rot… As this decomposing disease devours your soul!  My soul slowly sinks into the mud. Yearning to find you six-feet-under. Beneath the sublime beauty of our orchids. To the place where Hades resides...      

   I miss the touch of your hands. The lingering sensation of your waning wood intertwined with my vines.  My fingertips now feel the burn of Hell! I learnt that this burn won’t melt, it just burns, until your whole bodies submerges and turns what they’ll learn and all their concerns into nothing! Because I guess everyone dies…

   Even if they don't deserve it...well I may have deserved it because I'm depicted as the ideal image of man yet they watch as my green leaves burn brown and… and this ivy poisons my rich roots. But this isn't a cry for help, it’s a letter, poem, or whatever you want to call this… This is my message to you!
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   Yes, angels are heavenly but even if they’re with me…they can't get inside my mind and help me flourish in this Hell on Earth. The one you left me in! So I thank them…but I’ve handled enough forced sympathy. I'd rather be with some boys and ***** and listen to a simple symphony. There I can cry... myself …and become one with the flood                    
from this deluge of delirium!