Drowing in solitude
and in bitter vice...

Not so long before the present April dawn
Before my ability of loving was bitterly gone...

Abiding by the deviance
of the twice of thrice deceased...

Lets manage to slip the pounding whisper between...
the very whisper of disgrace...

Lifeless yet sustained
as love's chains support my aching weight...

At even tide while the aphotic pigments
Wash the placid sky...

Dismay in dark abundance
Now greet the torment of sickening qualm...