I wonder why they waste their time with someone so ungrateful of their effort?

At least I'm self-aware.

An apology and a question.

I cannot possibly be the only one with your voice echoing through my mind in a constant hum. Maybe that's why it burns more.

I guess fate really does exist, if that's the case.

Ghosts are the product of someone else's obsession. Do not let me become one.

A chaotic mess of intertwined meanings and empty words, caught together by a heavy wind filled with wet cement.

You voice filled with power, echoed your song across the universe as I laid at your side, tears in my eyes, with a vibrantly aching chest.

Before the antidote.

A sin, grave enough, that even eternal torture is not enough.