Inside, I sit in a dimly lit room, in the faded yellow light; 
I find a bit of warmth to heat the flesh of my skin.
Yet it does not soothe the ice of blood and bones; 
It does not dispel the bitter cold I live in.
Somewhere inside, the combustion of life blooming 
Seeks to calm the frost burning in my veins.
Cursed to dull awareness in perpetuity,
To live in wakefulness leaves me in chains.

I find no peace in this state of unrest; 
Numbed and perpetually sedated, I find I can barely cry.
In the dark of the night, the pace of my soul keeps me dead awake; 
The spirits within have no rest, nor shall I.
In the chaos that lives to reign supreme, 
I reside in torrents and the eye of the storm.
The world spins, the day goes on, light grows, come to fade; 
In this loss, joy can take no form.

In the dimming of shade, I know solitude’s glade.
The light of day comes; I grow chilled to the bone.
The sweet fruit of radiance brings with a fall from grace.
I land with a thud on a ground made of stone.
The bright robs me of this lonely home I know
Where I lived in velvet skies and inky hues.
Sunlight shreds through the fabric of darkness;
It rests in pieces, lost through and through.

I look at the sunlight from within this dark room, 
That which radiates true life; never for the life of mine.
I gaze at the sun from afar as I rue distance in spirit;
Betwixt myself and that which lives to shine.
Averting my eyes, I seek the familiar chill of shadows; 
From that which blinds, I flee.
There has been so much light to my life; 
I find I can hardly see.

​Unfamiliar radiance drenches me in warmth; 
Yet these bones live cold still.
Separation proves difficult; 
Forced proximity with that which warmed me leaves me ill.
I see the light of day with these eyes of mine; 
In all that escapes me, I sometimes find there is little to be found.
The dulling of that which lies inside has come with time; 
It leaves me hopelessly bound.

In the cold remnants of the lonely times I knew, 
I wonder if I ever found warmth of my own.
I once believed I did; 
Yet for all once felt to be true, there is nothing to be shown.
These days, I turn away from the light of the sun; 
I wish not to drift like a moth to a flame.
Self-destruction has been through faults of my own; 
To suffer the consequence of fancy’s err lives to be a shame.

In a state of hibernation, I cave into darkness; 
There, I reside.
I wait for a light that does not burn 
Somewhere safe, inside.
For all that I have lived and done, 
I wonder if the fate that lives to betray me is undue.
For all the time that comes with its own price, 
The debt I live to pay is one I will forever live to rue.

I find the pace of my heartbeat walks with me 
Towards the decay of eventuality, in slowness in time.
Maybe then, the sun will cease to sear into my soul; 
Perhaps one day, there will be reason to this rhyme.
The sun rises, but the sun always sets; 
When my day is done, I will be freed.
One day, there will come a time
where my heart will no longer bleed.

---

Light lives to be intangible in substance. Yet the touch of the light’s life, the essence of happiness that rested upon me was more than tangible. Permeating my skin, the blood of every cell in my body percolated with heat that I absorbed. The warmth of heat? Tangible. Meandering its way into the deepest trenches of my soul, the essence of bliss reached into every fibre in my being. The light of happiness was nothing short of tangible. I later knew what it was to be robbed of light in life. It took me some time to find that light was not mine to hold. Intangible in substance, it lived not to be grasped. Light was given to me on loan, and it was taken back. I never quite got over it, to put it mildly.