Beads that solemn glow,
Perk up my eyes with tragedies and flow,
Ensnaring my whim to wipe it away,
The tears that descend,
My body drowned in marks of spear,
In my hands I kindle a flame,
Tear to my flesh its pain so sour,
A hearty jubilance collapses in dismay,
My thoughts forfeit a mere clump of hay,
There is no afterlife to who doesn't believe,
Apart from this life there is more to grieve,
Am I a timeless portrait hoping to decay?,
Am I the assumed thrill of tomorrow and the obfuscation of today?,
My thoughts thinned to a buzzing sound,
Threads that break over a shallow woe,
A soul that bleeds,
The  swine it beholds,
I need a quilt,
For in this world I have gone cold.