I angrily wipe tears with my hand backs,
And try to muster knowledge I lack,
Who has awoken this angry beast?
That’s all I can say, the very least.
My heart confuddles what my mind cannot,
Leaping into a thought-bound trot,
The anger that this beast has arisen,
Will surely be slain for high treason.
I think of how things used to be,
When happiness was what used to be me,
But anger meddles with my lonely heart,
Fear mingles in; that’s only the start!
Cold winds blow from one place to another,
And the white blanket that falls is more than a cover,
For the dead, dry earth that is my soul,
The bare patch of grass that winter stole.
Can one live in a place of cold wonder,
Without a single stumble, nor even a blunder?
I don’t think so, not in the least,
For that’s what lies at the heart of the beast.
When my fingers rip at the fabric of me,
They leave scars only I can see,
But the pain is more than hard to bear,
Not that anyone would really care.
I know my life is worth none,
A worthless price, at least for some,
I will destroy myself, I think, one day,
When on my worthless back I lay.
No tears spill, worthless too,
How could they with no one for comfort, not even you?
No one can bear this pain alone,
Not even a wolf, alone, he roams.
I wish I could trade my life for another,
I have no one, not even a lover,
To share my dreams, my secret worries,
No one to ever say, “I’m sorry.”
But perhaps one day, maybe this one,
A death suitable for me will come,
And I will roam the earth once more,
As a lonely soul, yes, of the Earth’s core.