Depths Of Abyss.

A cup shall hold an ounce of blood.

My soul is tainted with a curse so ancient.

The hymns I hum at the dead of the night, almost feels haunting.

The memories once buried underneath the virgin soil, the fragrance you once remember, is scattered amidst the garden of isolation.

You who know a soul so nurturing and tender, is nothing but a blasphemous monster.

Dreams are beautiful like a mirage in a tormented desert.

Woken up by the reality is like facing the scorching sun, stranded alone in the sand.

Nothing lasts forever, one has always known.

But every time a dying soul is embraced by the lamp of hope,
one must fall back into the depths of the abyss all over again.