Lost
Stark, implicit misery
Bequeathed to me in infancy
An ill begotten energy
A life's supply of empathy
Through entropy on canopies
Of broken dreams, remedially
Weave, wake world of my empty

Intruding soul upon this blissful inebriation
Waning me from observation
Reservation from oscillation
of constant monotony

Inadequacy
Petulance, wanton aggravation
Though grown, eloquently
dispensing of my qualia born enemy

The self its own; but reverie
I find myself in symphony
My very soul
Elation