His eyes weren't closed, but it felt like he has entombed As he laid his fingers from the spine of the tome; He perused the letters imprinted by the blood Dripping from the wrist of a lonesome lad.
From the lightless corner, he hearkened the song of tumult Played by the demons where the lyrics have written with insult. The downfall of the knight as they have yearned for it to behold Brought the life of the feral wolf who is at night, he growled.
Their fangs lacerated his sanity through their bite While drooling for some piece of his fright. Each day seemed to be a night he has to wait to end; A cage he has to abscond far from the fiend.
Aiding through masks will not heal the induced sore For his pieces turned to dustโcan not fix what they tore. In the end, the whining wolf get drowned from derision And get killed from the unseen battleโdepression.
This is written for my first ever Writing Competition at school.