my heart pumps melancholic tunes

into my inert veins

and they seem to echo through every cell

spreading numbness like an epidemic

my body is a song without a tune.

I plant my trees with hope

and water them with love

but they only grow to

breathe in all that's left of my joy and sanity

and breathe out sorrow and insanity.

my bones shiver

in the graveyard that is my body;

every battle scar a grave

for the pieces I've lost of myself

and the empty souls echo within my hollow arteries.

but nothing grows when it is dark

so they shrivel up like raisins

and with it goes my love and hope

so I pray for the lost pieces

to find some place and call it home.

for I have nothing to offer

but an eternal resting place;

however, despite the tune-less songs,

it is not the melody that matters so,

but the meaning each lyric holds.

and I promise you, with time

I will compose the greatest symphony

for the long gone that lie beneath my skin

I will sing them a lullaby so beautiful

the Devils will cry and the Angels will erase their sins.