How beautiful would be my sad sad story!
And the sadness that dwell as my words reach glory!
That sylvan walk is now but an abject stalk
Her silken talk made me such a laughing stock
I gaze at the stars, I run, I sleep
Impermeable is my heart, the pain doesn’t seep
She wrote me then poetry or just string of curses?
They now enchant upon me like the satanic versus!
My friends subject my mind to failing renovation
It is now but a devotee of a gloomy meditation
I don’t wish I don’t talk I don’t long I don’t crave
The scars that she gave are so novel and so grave
I shall drink an ocean and yet be athirst
I engulf the void, my emptiness earns its trust
My faith she murdered giving birth to an atheist
Is she the goddess of demon or a reckless beast?
My already slender life is perishing, is sliced
The agony comes not from life but death disobliged
I wonder how beautiful is this sad sad story!
I feel my sadness cloud my words reaching glory!
