This visceral hurt, a wound that will not mend, 
‎Lingers and hangs like shadow on my days. 
‎My vital force, surrendered to its end, 
‎Lost in the labyrinth of twisted ways. 
I wish a tear would fall, a single drop, 
‎To ease this burning dust behind my eyes. 
‎I wish a quiet sleep, that would not stop, 
‎Until the echo of my sorrow dies. 
Ars Vivendi's pitiful reject
Born to wallow in the a melancholy
Why I dared for different expect
When I saw the writing on the wall and...
Must I linger, haunted, lost, and dead? 
‎Perhaps oblivion will reach out a gentle hand 
‎And I can only sing a song of sorrow.
How much can this poor heart endure, and beat? 
‎How much more heartache can it hold inside? 
‎Before it stills, surrendering defeat, 
‎And all the light and warmth within will die? 
‎How long to wait for darkness to descend, 
‎Seal my eyesockets, let the suffering end? 
‎How long until the darkness softly sighs, 
‎And closes gently my unweeping eyes?  
‎How much can anguish's weight the spirit bear? 
‎How many wounds before the vessel breaks? 
‎How long to wait, beyond all dark despair, 
‎For sleep to come, for nothingness it makes? 
‎I watch the days bleed slowly into night, 
‎And bird, my soul, 's preparing for a flight