Lachrymose,
Losing a life I did not fully engross,
Comatose, dying and death seems so close,
But loathe, I live a lie so frankly grandiose,
Verbose and jocose in all manners morose,
Desperation froze,
No one arose to salute my muttered incantations,
To dispute my life through my imagination,
Though through my doting degradation,
I cling on frantically unto unknown exaltation,
Diving into my awaiting expiration,
Regretful inspiration,
Fictitious foundations set in neglect,
Direct forgetting of the very thing once most in need to protect,
Respecting the ideas, with which ones conscious yearns to dissect,
I wept,
Alone except with, or was I within, the dark,
Or was it with the darkness within,
No matter, therein,
It begins, I accepted in that dark,
The dark and the truth of all things,
All something’s whispered so quietly they could well be nothing’s,
Though those nothing’s more oft than not turn into something’s,
Somewhere between the two supposedly lies everything,
Everything lies to make a man,
A man hollow seeming whole,
Holes plugged until they take their toll,
A role in a life you know you stole,
But there is no one,
No one bearing in mind what I have done,
Please, someone to forgive my mistakes that make who I become,
Becoming the shadows reprobate, I cannot anymore outrun,
Become someone, known to no one and now long gone,
Long gone alone, finally where I belong,
Long gone disposed of, to where I feel destined,
Destination twisted as thoughts are infested,
Alone as questions are no longer requested,
Alone but at least not wrong in all my guessing,
Alone in the dark with the truth of all things