Is it pitiful to try and escape the confines of a hole?
Is it unworthy of awe to attempt achieving betterment?
Is it not in tune with this sadist world to climb?
Is romance a dead creation?

Somber psalms quake now in this reality,
loving embraces are frowned upon as displays—
filth and showmanship, naught more—
that deepen the mortality of man.

This crater is growing,
a crack on sanity’s and happiness’s skulls.
The glow of the Moon no longer shines,
the glow of the Moon is now a nuisance.

To reach you… to reach you is impossible.
We are two blank pages trying to fill each other,
futilely clashing and folding…
There is an unbearable stench.

Is this Hell I feel, with its stifling black vapors?
It must be… I sweat under the Sun’s enemy
and smile at the Moon’s pointlessness—
carrying misery under my arms, throat.

But it’s fleeting… fleeing my fingers.
My nostrils are calmed as softness slides through them.
And it arrives… the dawn… the waking…
And sadists and cynics slink to their burrows.