Pacing in an empty room
For all of this misery
Emotional starvation
I keep bleeding
And I can't find any wound
Is it inside my chest?
I know my fears keep breeding
Eating away my mental stability
All of my memories, my history
Everything eaten by the angst
The day I discovered total joy
I know I created my own doom
Take my good days, I'll keep the rest
Life is a bit of castration
But it doesn't matter
Anyway...
There isn't a final chapter
Unfinished works leave a sense of mystery
That and utter abandonment and frustration
Not to mention an author's damnation
"It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery.”
