Torment, torment, anxiety brings such sweet sorrow,
The dim grinding of gears within a mind left dark and hollow,
I have waxed lyrical on my fears, on my oldest friend named Death,
Who lingers at my threshold, patient, cold, awaiting my final breath,
His presence is an icy murmur threaded deep through marrow’s ache,
A keeper of forgotten names and vows I failed to make,
Yet still I pace these haunted halls where fractured thoughts convene,
Among the rust and ruin of all that might have been,
For ignorance bears honeyed lips while poison stains her tongue,
And grief hums ancient hymns where youth once brightly sung,
While somewhere in the blackened hush beyond this mortal veil,
A deathly silence waits for me, with open arms forever pale.
Dan Verkys 