Your Infatuation will fade
Slowly with the ebbing of time,
Pain Suddenly spiderwebs up my spine
Imaginary daggers, ethereal made,
Bleed me slowly from an unexpected range.
Nothing is left except the husk of a man
Leaving my stranded with nothing....
Without love, what is the point in being.
Are the infectious thoughts that deteriorate my head part of a plan?
Or some deliberate evil for what I falsely presumed.
It feels as if disease has crumbled my resolve,
Leaving my pathing alone to erode
I trip and I slip, But will I fall?
With no one left to call
My voice flutters out into the night.
