Living inside your reality withers me away

Whilst the lost words I sought to profess

Lie wrapped in a decaying shroud of death.

How I have longed to write the words

To win myself back into your heart

But what use is there,

When the lover has been written no part?

Everything is but a false sense of security

Into which we are deluded entirely;

A sedative of apathy force-fed to us blindly

Meanwhile Beauty waits for me

To rescue her away from the hapless reality

With which she abides;

My choice is left to no other:

Fight against it or else she dies

Even to the extent of causing myself abundant sorrow and loss;

The grief of tomorrow is the price that it will cost…