Alone these words shrivel into the disquiet, this a life of infirmity and premature astheny Destitute of effable feelings, a solitary actuality of no skies only ceiling The dark (is) not what scares me It’s the possibility of something there that I can’t see Enameled to serve a purpose, subjugated from the world I disaffect and contemplate if living is worth this The dark (is) not what scares me It’s the possibility of something there that I can’t see From the melanoid intestines of this building resonates a deep noise, at night these feelings beat me for there joy Sentiency of deepened animosity, convulsing at the sight of these atrocities The dark (is) not what scares me It’s the possibility of something there that I can’t see The dark (is) not what scares me... This padded cell can only keep me warm until the end of this song, my cessation I will no longer prolong
You won't tend to get replies from folks 'round here that probe those parts of themselves they'd rather not face. Which is quite harmonious with your piece, don't you think?
This Astheny of Asthenia without the si is Athena and She of golden owl song would seek to call you from these disquieting dreams of no Self. Awake and realize that you are God/dess.
man, this is a killer work, I can relate the the feelings, the tone of it. Not always but now and then I can sink rather low. Anyways, good job, liked the repetition, though I'm not sure I like the way it ended. But I guess that's just me.
