I look into your tear-some eyes with profundity. I scout with a penetrating gaze and see your realm of watery graves.   Those eyes of yours are the gates, beyond the reeking eyes is an abysmal mind.   The anguish welled within, there I meet you to bathe...

Under the winter day’s whispery glow, all is quiet here. This is my shattering. No more hymns of breath. Just waiting beside my tombstone. Dressed wildly in vines of time. Had you been a ghost too, would you have noticed me? Must death be the only way? Bound now...

Prefer you my romantical ghost with beating heart and spirit ascending from this grave to show I still love you?   Prefer you a love letter from the depths of my grave? One penned in ink, or in tears from my veins?   Prefer you to pluck a crimson...

That pulsating moonglow within, The lantern of my soul, Barely illuminating a strange, dark world.   The supernovas within my eyes Ignite the veil of psychosis, Torching all the delusions.   Revealing reality, The light within the dark, The obscurity of the twilight.