The faces around me belong to the dead.
A question rises on the top of my head.
Is this the underworld of the breathing?
Am I a Eurydice who’s been left waiting?

I ride the train from East to West.
Each day of my ride, I come to detest.
Is this what passes for living,
merely existing but not experiencing?

In the light of day, dreams slowly fade,
in the darkness of night, nightmares invade.
Will I only be, one day, food for the earth?
Or will I eventually see life’s true girth?

Wishes and desires of the past, I now surrender.
“But to yield so easily, is it right?” I wonder.
Will I still be able to wear the smile of mirth,
and see that my existence really does have worth?

I fear that my soul will forever walk alone,
on this hackneyed land, in solitude I moan.
Does acceptance provide absolution,
or does this act of submission be my obliteration?

Is faith synonymous to folly?
I ask and doubt for I always feel weary.
Do I need a savior to provide consolation?
Or do I hold the key to my own salvation?

Day by day the tree of hope withers,
my soul being corrupted by intruders.
Ghouls and ghosts of reality,
eat away at my sanity.

It is maybe in insanity that I may seek heaven.
The paradise of the broken is teeming with madmen.
Happiness or truth, it’s always either or.
Your reality cannot be your home forevermore.