What Do You Know

Wherever I go,
The shadows will follow.
And what do you know,
In filth you will wallow.

At heart and in mind,
You haunt my tomorrows,
You’re one of a kind:
The source of my sorrows.

I dream of the sea
To drown my frustration:
Its only decree
Is breed desperation.

Wherever I go,
The shadows will cry fear.
Yet what do you know
Who left me to die here.

From the Lost Notes of the Deep Dweller’s Shipyard [New Fragment #6/Till Death Do Us Part]

Please never ask me how I keep going. I have no idea how – or even why, for that matter. All I know is this: The shadows will never tire of chasing me, and there is no long-term escape. Just now they are closing in on me again, as I stumble and sputter along the well-trodden path, bound for another fall. I can feel them everywhere, in the glaring sun as well as in the pale moonlight. The space to manœvre, or even move at all, decreases rapidly with each step and with each breath I take. I desperately clasp every little bit of happiness I have managed to get a hold on and tack on to my heart. Yet there is not a hope in hell when the time comes for the shadows to engulf me. And they will feast upon me, eagerly and mercilessly devouring whatever I may naively have believed to be mine to keep, from the fondest memories to the most intense feelings of love still lingering. Finally, they will leave me alone in the dark to rot for two eternities. Alas, they need my repeated suffering to nourish them, and so they will leave the seeds of false hope to be betrayed to grow another tree of life from within the despair-infested grounds. For where death would be the only true companion, only emptiness awaits to corrupt the very essence of my being. May the day that death do us part come soon.

From the Lost Notes of the Deep Dweller’s Shipyard [Fragment #16/The Post-Sanity Verses]

You did not come, nor did you follow,
The sparrows sing inside my head;
The dead of night awaits tomorrow,
When all is lost for good and bad.

No longer do I dread or fear,
Consume my thoughts, I bid you well,
The ancient call I must adhere
To, all is red now, gone to hell.

They fill the emptiness within my chest
With visions of the dark to rise;
I lay my weary head to rest,
Anticipate this world’s demise.

Forgotten are the ways of old,
Oh sparrows, sparrows, eat the skies!,
Begone, ye filthy heart of cold!,
We have arrived where all hope dies.

The Vanity of Hope

And once more my feelings subside, as though they were not mine, or just a blurry dream from the distant past, unreal and far away.
I am out of touch with myself, knowing I do not belong here. No matter how often the sun return, I shall always end up alone in the dark.
The vanity of hope is a vice which can not be forgiven. The vicious mistress tempts us just so as to devour us, and then give rebirth to us in despair and disgust time and again.

Prometheus

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The air is fresh and cool tonight. Its silence fills my head, and its loneliness surrounds me. The memories of a lifetime pass by, paralleled by the inevitable insight that nothing will ever change. The faces keep passing by and are replaced by others, but the rest – relationships, events, love, hatred, trust, the final treason, pain, regret, emptiness, pointlessness – ceaselessly repeats itself in a vicious circle.
The bypassing memories suddenly come to an abrupt halt – you. I can think of nothing else, as I behold, enthralled by a slightly uneasy awe, the goddess smile playing on your velvet lips forming your well-shaped mouth which is only surpassed by the sparks emitted by your darkish eyes. For a moment, I catch my breath and my heart appears to collapse, eager to burst the suddenly too confined ribcage keeping it. I shudder, and I am at a loss for words. I feel cold, and as I look outside, the night has crept on the sky, leaving me standing with my back to the wall.

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There is no hope. I am a modern Prometheus of love. The vultures pick at my heart, rip it out of my chest, and devour it eagerly. But alas, until the next day, all will have been restored in order that the torture may continue for ever, and no Hercules is to come so as to release me.

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