Chained

I don’t know how you exist, and if you do: what are you doing and where you are. Are you yourself on your own, or somewhere unfavorable stranger again. I wonder if your world has regained color, or it remained completely the same – full of black and white static. In this age, when we broke ourselves to dust… so that the desert in my heart can carry your name.

With pale fatigue I recall and thoroughly gain consciousness that I have failed and betrayed you. My treacherous nature knows no bounds. And at times when I only wish that sorrow should be made of ice, in order to fully melt in summer, I come to understand that I don’t deserve that as much as I deserve Prometheus’s chained cursed faith. Now, when my mistakes are counted with you, I realize that hell is irrevocably the consequence of me.

In this life, when everything shatters into pieces… everything, but the pain.