I now kneel upon the barren earth of my desolate garden,
Clutching a soiled ***** with these scraped, fractured hands.
With this ugly design to dig up each raw fragment of my wounded self,
Dread and terror encircle me, like phantoms lurking in the depths of night,
Their icy grip growing even tighter with each passing breath.
I tear through every inch of my flesh, peeling skin to the bone,
Until the decaying corpus of my inner child unveils itself.
My cries reverberate, and my voice thunders through the shadows of the relentless night
Upon the discovery of such a harrowing crime by my soul.
I flee in pursuit of aid, chasing the promise of never returning back to the cursed garden,
Yet, the pitiless tempests of life redirect my course back to that sombre place,
Like a puppeteer’s hand steering a marionette, destined to revisit the obscurity once more.
Oh, how I long to pluck out mine eyes,
Unseam these veins, and drain my earthly vessel of its crimson essence,
So that I can cradle the petite, half-rotten body lying there, within my yearning arms.
But let me just lie here, until I am lifted up to another world,
One bathed in luminescence, adorned with gilded splendour and ethereal beauty of dreams.

Love, a four-letter whisper, seems weightless on the tongue,
Yet, it bears the heaviest of destinies, a doom I must say,
That all hearts are fated to carry from their very first breath.
Could it be more than a mere doom?
There exists not a solitary soul on this planet who hasn’t woven tales
Of being ruined by the fragile threads of their vulnerable heart.
Then how come we fight to rekindle our spirits within the warmth of love at the close of each day,
When the chilling grip of hatred could so effortlessly take root in the depths of our very souls?
How can love wield such omnipotent power that, even when it tears us apart,
It still remains the sole inscriber of the script of joy and mirth upon the pages of our tragic lives?
For some souls, placing others ahead of them is their sole path to survival,
Isn't it wondrous to contemplate that they are the stars in our night sky,
Guiding us to trust, to love, and to open our hearts anew,
Even after the world has savagely exploited our innocence?
Love may inflict pain, a feeling of betrayal, and the searing fires of heartache.
But it’s a privilege to be the epitome of strength, to navigate tempestuous waters
And reach the shores of life again, without succumbing to the depths of drowning despair.
'Tis the most exquisite art, to bear this shard of resilience within our fragile yet whole hearts
Perhaps, it is a fateful burden to bear boundless love in a world fraught with turmoil,
Yet it remains a noble honour to choose humanity
Amidst the chaos and madness of this earthly realm.

Today, I dared to set my foot upon the world's stage.
And the sunlight rushed forth, blinding my sight in boundless radiance.
A strange sight unfolded before me, a world bathed in a ghostly, whitish hue.
Oh, how my eyes endured the agonizing throes of reality;
Their gaze so deeply enamoured by the allure of darkness,
Wept for the embrace of comforting shadows.
My skin burned with an unearthly fervour,
As if I had been whisked away to the fiery depths of infernal hell.
I retraced my steps in haste, falling into the arms of a formidable beast,
Enshrouded boldly in his wily grin of triumph,
As though his feast had willingly surrendered itself to his grasp.
I had always been destined to be ensnared within the web of hopelessness,
Like a fragile moth drawn inexorably to the relentless flame of its existence.
For this monstrous entity has divested me of strength, cradling me through endless day and night,
While feasting upon my very soul beneath the soothing veil of shadows.
I dwelt in such delusion, losing sight of the truth that the sun has long forsaken my sky.
Must I wait for this fear to gobble me up and let me vanish into the oblivion?
Or dare once more to descend into the radiant expanse of the unfamiliar,
Where the light of hope may still be flickering, beckoning for my return?

I dare not to unveil the sins to the world that are buried deep within me.
Standing beneath the falling leaves, I often ask myself: Who, in truth, am I?
On certain days, I discover strange solace within my intricate illusions,
Where I wield the spectre’s blade, tormenting those who’ve wounded my soul.
An eerie smile dances upon my visage as I behold their blood upon my hands.
Fear constricts my very bones as the darkness within me stretches far and wide,
Whilst I am still oblivious to the hour and place where it will finally end.
Sanity bade me its final goodbye when I bled and was abandoned to a merciless death.
My world is now confined to black and white, for all the colours have washed out of my eyes.
To the heavens, I beseech for freedom’s grace,
Yet, how can I trade my soul for such release, when its essence holds no worth?
There was a time when I stood as a valiant warrior, bold and proud.
But now, I fear, I have taken on the character of a villain within my own tale.
My innocence is now shrouded in the murky attire of vengeance and jealousy.
The colour of my heart has darkened and is now a shade of midnight,
I can witness monstrous entities breaching the gates of my world,
So with their sinister alliance, I am sculpting my world into my own private hell.

Have I, perchance, metamorphosed into a devil?
Or do I wade in the slow currents of transformation, inching towards such darkness?
This change of my soul haunts me, casts doubt upon my existence as a being of flesh and bone.
For within, I sense no pain, no guilt, nor remorse,
When my tongue wields daggers of impudence, my words crude and abusive.
Verily, I long for these mortal shells to retreat from my presence,
To keep their distance as one would from a plague.
Is this the aftermath, then, of betrayal, a betrayal wrought by hands I once trusted?
This world, inhabited by insolent beings, claims existence as complex and full of agony.
Yet, how cunning are they, to hide their sins,
Masking the slaughter of innocence in souls beneath the veil of life’s curse,
And adorning their graveyards by weaving tales of love and tragedy in the deepest crimson ink.
Numbness enshrouds my entire flesh,
And I long for the piercing wail of these desensitizing emotions to tear my chest,
Even at the cost of my annihilation.
For I do not wish to be alive anymore because life has forsaken me eons ago.
I am now cursed, my neck bound by the serpent of coldness, its venom coursing through my veins.
Blisters mar my fingertips, and the bones of my spine ache as I hunch over my weathered quill,
Penning countless verses
In search of the tattered shreds of my sanity amid commas and colons that may yet remain within.
But each prose’s end becomes a question, inquiring the purpose of my continued breath,
Punctuating my verse with a query rather than an end.
How shameless of me to craft fireworks of art from the agony inflicted by these mortals!
Oh, I beseech the heavens for the liberation of my soul from this earthly vessel,
To journey far from this realm of demons disguised as men.