From the beginning, I have known,

That the state of happiness, is a lie.

For if happiness was real, and I could have it,

there would be no tears in my face, no tears in the sky.


With the tear atop my iris,

and my vision of the world, it cruelly shrouds,

All I can feel is the suicidal morning rain.

Flowers in my garden, drowning in tears from the clouds.


My heart is deeply wounded,

like wounded was the heart of Poe.

O, his pain, always bleeding on his words,

O, his pain, I thought I'd never know.


Return to my arms, my love, my dear,

with my broken heart, this is all I implore.

Or the fields, I shall ask, if my misery will ever end,

*Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'

Look at what I have become,

A lethargic creature deprived of all dreams.

Crawling on the rough seas of concrete,

blistered, and wounded, and full of such raw depression.


Prowling through the fog,

in obscure alleys, colder than the tainted windows of my soul.

In the night when the moon stalks me,

in the night when tears flow heavier than the weight on my shoulders.


I have become invisible and dormant,

creating tornadoes filled with the dandelions that carry all my wishes,

left only with the wise trees to talk to,

and I hear nothing but whispers of the leaves in their indifferent responses.

We walk atop the clouds,

above the oceans, that have swallowed,

the crowns that we had once worn,

wave, after wave, dragging the sands into her tables.


Look upon the sky of black,

where the thousand stars reside,

while in the dark, they harmoniously spin,

the seven brothers of the Alpha and Omega.


Brothers, once united strong,

have grown apart with seas in between,

now look at one another with discrimination and disgust,

eyes now containing anger, and fists clenched with iron.


The comets, they fill my pupils,

my heart now filled with stone,

as we walk the path of good and evil,

and watch Castor and Pollux cut each other's throats.

In the dark, I weep,

as in the air, fumes, I smell.

Alive I may appear to be,

but my soul now burns in Hell.


Memories of happiness in my hands,

memories of watching it swim away,

now, left am I, to wonder,

why I still live to see the day.


The sky has promised joy,

December winds dragged me along,

the leaves had whispered, that you were for me,

and now, I bleed, for they were wrong.

Walking in the darkness,

lead only by the sound of scurrying mice

listening for laughter,

for the dead voices do not suffice.


They say the light is at the end of this tunnel,

another lie to keep myself alive,

to try to endure it all,

the pain shall forever thrive.


Many times, have I painfully witnessed,

illusions of the sun after the rain,

I thought I had seen the illumination,

but actually headed towards me,

was a train.

Looking at the sun

in the hammock of Milky Way

as my colours slowly change

into red from the grey.


Burning like the coal

slowly disintegrating into ashes

feeling heavier than the world

to the seas, the sky slowly crashes.


The son of fear is hate

it slowly creeps into my skin

I no longer understand

the power growing within.


Slowly, I feel it spread,

as through the city, I stride.

Feel the rush inside my veins,

feel the anger boiling inside.

Opened, have both my eyes,

now, I am awake,

from a lucid dream in hibernation,

where I felt my heart will never break.


A fair angel, is what I saw,

with dazzling white feathers,

an angel so full of beauty

here to save me from the Nethers.


Waking up on the cold cement floor,

tears run down my ugly face.

But thankful am I, for the short escape,

For the thirty-four days of Grace.