Sometimes looking outside,

the window panes sigh

and they sing a melancholy to me.

The songs that cry happiness.

These glasses of reflection,

upon my face like a mirror of tears.


These knots that were once untied,

and the hugs that were embraced,

and the marks on my neck,

the laughter and smiles,

they seem surreal under these burdens

of the holly night.


I wonder if the day was young,

when the night of darkness leaned over her shaft,

because on this day of strife,

I can only think of what torture

these stars were to bare.


Oh those sanguine lonely pillows,

laid once with glory that shown upon your hands,

now devastatingly dropped,

In the utopia of hell,

They might have bled,

just the darkness that burdened them


Your eyes were wearily,

for never they saw mine,

you sauntered through these empty woods,

asking for an answer,

but the answer gave to you

I guess, did not fulfill your heart,

For if it did, I wouldn't be here.