Abased by my grief,

the troubled mind I bear,

drags me down the abyss of

endless loneliness.



Enlight the reek in which you dwell.

You re the weak your soul has fell.

-Hear the prayer of a lost soul.



Even though the greatest of my wishes

is being stoic, God has made me

one of many stooges.



Trusting only thou

who is alike myself.

I merge with the darkness

that embraces me for who I am.



Emaciated by their faulter moves,

they hide under the cloak of blasphemy.

Desperately yearning for love,

finding only misery Avount



Now I loath the presence of God,

whom I had such trust in.

Only to be abandoned,

my hardest of times.



Pierce the mind see what is not.

Try to sense the spirit rot.