I did not leave no trace behind,
I've gone to where noone can find
my breath, no pulsing heart of mine,
to write, and put, my soul to rhyme.

I left my heart, the mourning blew
off in the cloud of birds that flew
from the grass, so swift away,
and left behind the dying day.

I stayed, lay down, I shall observe
the finished bloom, the pulsing nerve;
the very vein from which does flow
the frail young love I made to grow

amidst the blood-red sorrows leaves,
that withers, while they also spread the seed,
so to rise from shallow floors
to feel no hate, yet no remorse.

I'll paint my soul in grey-scale themes,
a portrait, full of abstract scenes
shivering; alive with bleak emotion,
a reflection of a raging ocean.

I'll try to ease the raging storms,
avoid the traps, the hideous thorns
to breathe the breath you tried to give
yes, to try to breathe and try to live

but find myself to kneel again,
crawling, all my hopes to Hell descend,
and all the glistening tears I've shed
recite the doctrines of the dead.

I send my fright towards the night
in nightmares to reflect, in those screams delight

that blinded holds Pandoras chest
a kiss of tenderness, of Autumn clouds; shadowless.