All aspects of life are regurgitated now: the colours, the tastes and the sounds.
My existence itself is auto-tuned and I breathe like I'm already drowned.
I search among faces, all listless and grey - I know them but memory fades.
There are those that I hated, and she that I craved, who loved me in woods and the glades.
The stone is so cold - so dreary and chill - yet I desperately claw at the walls,
For if I lie softly, and listen intently, I can still hear the desolate calls.
What moments may come are of no import: the warmth of her body is gone.
The ups and the downs, the black and the white, but now it's the wrong and the wrong.
In time, I suppose, these tortures will wain, and all that is ill will not last,
But now I am destined to find my repose serenading her mausoleum's cast.