I don’t understand why now I get so sad, angry and want to cry when I have feelings of adore, can passion be such a cruel thought?

I though I would just recover from the deep fractures left when all these false passion were torn from me over and over again.

I have wanted to cry so many times, but I have sheltered my eyes from that rain and they remain desiccated and parched.

It’s like I fell in a hole and just kept sliding down because nothing was strong enough to hold onto and now I can’t see the light anymore.

If someone is reaching for me, I just can’t see their hand, because I closed my eyes for the fear that would rise from the sight.

I use to wait, while I did the apprehension grew larger, stronger, darker, now it’s the terror and dread that consumes my eyes.

Once I felt I was lost, now I know I am hiding from that which I believe will eat out of me the last of my open lucidity.

It’s so dark here, but who wants to illuminate the corpses of so many abandoned dreams that have died by their own hand.

It’s so cold here, I feel so numb, but it’s seems better than feeling the deep ache that a warming of forgotten wounds would bring.

I look to see the light every now and then, though the thought of actually see it inspires a deep morose of it vanishing again.

So tangled are the hopes with the trepidation, as if they are one in the same, like a glorious day waiting for a spit in the face.

I can’t speak when the flowers inspire me, to do so would turn them black and lifeless as my words turn to poisonous rain.

Who is this person in my head now, when did they come in? An uninvited guest and I can’t find a exit to throw them out of.

I try to say leave me be, but somehow I am hypnotized by the words of this usurper, the one who is telling me that I am he.

Now here I am bleeding myself of what use to warm me until I am pale, weak and no match for the demonous fears.

But who could be strong enough to hold me up and raise my sword arm so I may swing my sword against the beasts?

That there is such a person is the only hope not yet poised to a black death, a tiny little thing struggling to survive with so little to nourish it.

It is held in the last refuge of lucidity, where at least it can still live perchance to flourish and raise me from this trap.