Saturday, May 14, 2011 @1:11 AM
This soul hath seen the world
In its many moods and faces, and it is
Undeserving of the love it yields not in return.
What use hath a transient Life which
Naught but Death embraceth, and a
Heart rewarded with sorrow for every yearn?
The tragedy,
Oh, tragedy!
All is ought to burn.
//at the end of the day
everyone's running from something.//