As under long, I've come to understand:
How awful fearsome I have made you feel,
In getting closer; arms yet open wide,
And haply—momentar'ly—holding hope:
...
Just because the sun is high,
And a lot of blood's been shed,
Doesn't mean that tears run dry,
Nor daily dreams are dead!
...
It's slightly strange how one—in peace—could watch:
His very hanging soul before his eyes,
All bloody, yet doth manage finding joy,
While fills his face a sick sadistic smile:
...
Right up ahead I think I see the light,
Oh, nay, I'm sure; it never seemed so near;
I only seek to end this endless night:
That always felt like home, albe't my bier!
...
Why bother search when all you need's inside?
How many places? Still they all were wrong,
And hopes—'cause false—brought not 'ny joy along:
How hard it gets to then frustration hide!
...
I'm searching still for someone else to love;
Yet merely love, not try to have at all:
For having leads to lose this splendid thing,
And so I must such slimy wants suppress,
...
I've ever hated still this dread abode,
The light was but too bright for my dull taste;
Gramercy, darkness grinned at me and glowed:
I could not help but hence—at once—make haste.
...
I sleep then swim in my subconscious still:
Oh, since—Alas! —it's only where we meet;
Unable with my stormy thoughts compete:
Which make me shriek, while lacking not the skill;
...