Watching those crimson nights which only my eyes see,
To be placed under woeful threat is not rare for me.
Seeing no hope, despair devouring a feeble one,
I know something of generous mortals, there are none.

Weeping through those sorrow filled nights,
Facing your constant fear at great heights.
Not knowing if you should dare face it,
Facing the fact that your hope has only a flicker lit.

Malevolent spirits, sinful orcs,
Their ways of life will never be sort.
Melancholy fills us with confusion,
That life has no meaning, it’s just an illusion.

I sacrificed my understanding for something so daunt,
My guilt for my mistakes shall haunt.
Haunt me in my awaking hours,
Knowing that my dark self has sinister powers.

My eerie beauty gives myself an abstruse way,
But deep beneath, my true emotions lay.
Being feared and becoming a phobia,
My strength in joy is very mere.

My lamet of woe might not be read,
But if you’ve read this, you know what life I’ve lead.
My improvement to everlasting being is indeed shallow,
And my heart towards life is certaintly hollow.

Voice to Thought,
Thought to Memory,
Memory to be Forgotten.