Thus our hearts be when devoid of love,
Flickers of love wither away like lavenders in November
Like an apparition, love exists not within us.
Even as our senses relax in false comfort
The mind is apprehensive
We are phished by the taste of purple liquids.
Thus not that we wither away
Unable of any thought nor emotion.
As our nostrils fume like chimneys
We inhale death as a virgin to a daisy
Our minds perambulate in displeasure
Seeking what to pleasure itself.
Thus, we are caught in a moment
In a cycling of the hour above the second
Where we stare into absolute nothingness.
Speaking unheard muttering
Except the fading wind as it kisses our lips.
Transfigured into a gloomy expression of ourselves
We are trapped in a universe of garbled thoughts
Even as we scream for help
No one dares reach into our minds
We are thus trapped in the catacomb of the mind
Haunted by phantoms of frittered time.