I’m dancing with the shadow of expectation
in the melancholic tunes of the sonata.
It’s the fantasy drown me into the abyss of sorrow.
Gone to the lull of sleeping.
Bacchus is at the height of bliss.
Tears are bedazzled where I escape
to dance them away in rain.
I have to die a little.
A little death.
Limping into nothingness.
Or else the demon will rip my heart.
Toss it is bullshit.