each passing time,
the pain gets multiplied
and it lingers on,
a scent, wrapping my body up
into mischievous agony.
amuse me, pain,
amuse me, agony;
for i have yet to show my best qualities.
the best has not yet come to pass,
but one certain thing comforts me
and puts me at ease like a sweet lullaby;
if i create, i am
if i write, i exist
and my life will forever go on,
and my existence will not be in vain.
for as long as i create,
some trail will be left behind.
the scent of death will fade,
and i will live
one more time.