And all at once, the winter came, to fill me with a desolate grief. Ashade of blue came over my soul, rich periwinkle filled my blood in away only I knew all too well. Aches and dull pains came over me like never and like always before. And a single key formed delicate ghosts creating symphonies of mockery that screamed, you are not alone, no- One is ever alone. Meaningless shivers cursed and fed the fear in my bones whilst vipers hissed at my ankles. Their laughter echoed in my ears while their tears soaked my shoulders, a veil of fog covering my eyes. And once the rain had cleared, spineless was your alibi, I said I'm hopless and alone, you said, I was too: Fueled with a passion for pain, I ignored it was just an excuse to feel something. And now, the webs in my mind that once formed murals of thunderstorms and starry night skies, now form all my crises of faith that leave me screaming in the midnight rain. I am what I am, and your displeasure boils my blood and leaves what is left of me to dry under my own sun. I left what I love for you, I left everything for you. ow dare you ask me to be happy? I forgot what joy felt like. I fed my body, nourished my soul with
glimmers of melancholy. All I had to do was stay. All I had was nothing and I am only ever alone. And now, just now, you scream, 'this is absurd' and lay the weight of the world on my shoulders once more. How can I do what I love if I am not miserable? What is art but a way I free the venom in my veins, the liquor in my soul. I live for the simple fact of having done so. I love for the right to feel the invisible. threads tug at me just so. I am for the spite of those who desire more. I plead for reliet night and day, wondering i Death takes pity to those souls abandoned, hearts shallowed. Taught love is still love, inherited pain is still pain. My heart is pulled in two different directions in equal force night and day and you still plead my happiness. I have been desolate for months, itching for the soul, yet there is no such cure for the thinker's heart. And since you discovered it, you fear for its desolation. To live is more than I can bear, and so I write my eulogy for fear an architect will fulfil my otherwise right, So I say. To live in melancholy for the hope of it's absence and because of it's absence can only be described as the most human infatuation imaginable.
