The sky seems woeful.            
Rain pours from the gloomy clouds.
Hail falls when rain fails.

It sure is such a rarity
To have any kind of clarity
In this pall we’re covered with - no verity
Grey is not lit with any prosperity
Only shroud covered lands all in a form of familiarity
Knowing what is covered, but cannot see it’s true identity
Shadows cast through the day of skies so cloudy
A wet mist reminds - there is no remedy
Sunshine does not peek or wink through an atmosphere so gloomy
Dark grey grows over the land walked by one in singularity
Unfortunately, having clarity is such a rarity, a sad insincerity..

If you look outside,
All you see is storm clouds.
It’s one of those days,
Where everything seems sad and gloomy.
The good thing is,
is That you can just lie inside,
And you have that sense,
That you are safe,
Protected,
And nothing will ever harm you.

There are moments when inside you is so wintery cold,
your night's secret is flipped over by the death's perfume,
you are in a turn, at one last intersection, but you're old,
wanting to **** the sadness, to let life once more bloom.

There are moments when you are so full of desire,
your destiny seems so cruel and you don't have the will
to heal your dark thoughts, the gloomy fears are on fire
but the cross, you have to carry it on your shoulders. Still.

Moments in which you spice up with nothings your existence,
you're satisfied with dead souls, with the remaining crumbs,
you run to the silence of the crying willow tree, for assistance,
you look at the mad fire from heaven... life hurts, death comes.

Moments when you're in front of the execution squad
without having one more chance to one last discussion,
you think that life is a mask worn in Venice, that it's a fraud,
the sky seems like a wallpaper of demons in combustion.

There are also moments when you want to start over,
to turn the book of anxiety into a beautifully painted panel,
you decide to meet your shadows in the valley of a loner,
thirsty for air, for life, you decide to change the channel.

you had frequently checked her favorite place
like she's going to sit there as usual

you talked with that place
like you talked with a person
cause you think it's a part of her

she's your favorite ghost
the one that you've always talked to
in every night that comes as a gloom
without expecting any answer

she's your favorite ghost
the one that you've always imagined
her presence sticks in your head
her memories floats on the stream of your blood

three years has passed
it's unbelievable that you survived

you're going to where your vision guides you
it's going to be beautiful
but it won't be easy