An affinity sequestered away in a languid beat of my heart. To whom I've fallen for so gravely ill, this churning affection grows a part within me.
The fire toils for a great satisfaction, one of which I cannot fufill. The strung voices that I provoke to keep you in the know are nothing but a timid reliance to keep me in the dark; a fault I've succumbed to, and a death I'll forever hold in disconcertion.
Perhaps it is best I keep the key for my own, but this pent affliction will be a pernicious ailment, gutting me within as the present becomes the past—day by day.
Oh, how I walk among the shadows, lurking in a void, consumed by the daunting portents of failure. Oh, how the hauntings of what could have been lingers.
But, alas, my silence has spoken, and now I must walk the shade of night and bear the quietude of my lonely plight.