But I am suffocating,
for wails and laughter,
brought to despair,
from happily never after;
I have been chained,
rooted to my doom,
I have been slain,
slanted by the boon;
and now I have lost my focus,
of my miserable task,
so I down my euphoria,
and pull out a second flask;
for I know not how to handle,
the tower of my emotions,
without giving into myself,
to tempt my guilty notions;
for it is my way of life,
and my potion of strife,
for beyond this glassy screen,
lies the boy who cannot scream;
so he sits in his thoughts,
clambering to confession;
while his eyes are never sought,
succumbing to depression;
and this is the boy I came to be,
the boy I see behind the screen,
because this is the image of me,
mirrored by the evening scene;
and now what can I do,
to change the ode of this feat?
For what has been done,
to change the ode of my seat?
When can I finally glimpse,
the happiness of tomorrow?
And tell me if I will always,
drown in my own sorrow?