My stale, bitter soul rest upon wilted leaves
Into which the unexpected past weaves
Far beyond the darkness in the corner of my mind
Twisted upon my tortured veins into a tight bind
I feel them break; silently shaking with a tendency
To follow the a discontinued feeling of frequency
The past captures and consumes every last aspect of distance
It leads me deep in the depths of the shades of my substance
A bleak of reality sets in and I'm again banished
From the castle which my soul has vanished
I want it all to go away but I am again wasted
For until I may breathe what is tasted
