Abyssmal dimension of vehement isolation...
The purity of sorrow kissed by psychic depression,
The candle-fascination, motherhood of night,
A picture of pain hanged in a weeping sight,
The haunting drift of a crimson dead sea
Writing the chapters of a wordless tragedy,
The hideous, yet craved, legacy of suffering
Treasured in death and performed as offering,
The unbloody oath of never-loving broken,
The fear felt, yet, never spoken,
The shaking hands, the blind light that lies
In two sad, tear-drowning eyes,
A pink rose, seen so black and cold
Digging deeper in a forlorn soul, forever sold,
A heart given, sorrow receiving back
Leaving the inside an I empty and black,
Sad, wrathful thoughts, yet to passion led
Surrounded by so much death...