still wondering that the snow that has not melted burns like a living hell
the usual barren abandoned memory has shed like falling autumn leaves beside the well
immigration of winter bears across this /de-solace-ion/, from where I shall wait
lulled by the harmony of hopelessness, the mellifluous tones transitioning into monotones
looking in introspection at my own iridescence fade into monochromes
never to awake from this slumber spell that won't break unless the strings reconnect into the
ethereal realms converging at a moment of parallaxis--- from here I will wait
sonder upon the lost voices of my inner children down below finding their traceless pathways
soon this desolation, in this final wait, shall open the imperceivable doors
