• What would be perfection?
    How would I embrace it?
    Despair,
    hopelessness,
    into the dimsday.

    My essence is binding away
    tortured and unfulfilled
    to wilt away,
    to rot into the abyss.

    Nothing compares to this;
    to this amort to my soul,
    this defunct of endless woe;
    nothing can compare.

    My readiness for this tragedy
    is in paramnesia,
    and nothing compares
    to this gloom and despair,
    this incurable angle
    to the end.