There is a feeling he longs to feel again
And so he bleeds every new experience
for every drop of emotion it can arouse in him
Takes the glass to the table, time and time again.
Holds friends like hostages until they
begin to bore his starving appetite.

And the lovers who dared to share his bed,
he took from them more than they were willing to give
All for the sake of the hole he fights inside.
That damned emptiness where once
simple pleasantries lived.

And the vices drew close to him like
cancerous tumors thrive on disease,
The lusts, and the powders,
every god and every savior
drowning in the void that never ends.

What crime has he committed?
Against others, for sure.
Against himself, his witness,
confessing truths never revealed.

Longing for impossible imaginings,
Forever heartsick, romancing an eternal grief.
What a sad promenade, descending spiral,
A short-lived trail of light
all along the abysmal edge.