What happens when all hope dies,
and pray will bring nothing back?
Do you cry, accept your death
and let the world hate you
mock you
murder you
until you beg for the end.

What happens when everyone leaves,
backs turned, once were friends.
Do you wish they returned,
come back
don't go,
what did I do wrong?

I am all that's left.
The people have fled,
the joy has departed,
such great feelings,
this is death of the soul
and it can't be reborn.

My hands have no meaning,
no one to hold them
my heart has no meaning,
no blood to pump it,
my mind has no meaning,
its thoughts are toxic.

Stay with me.
Wait, where are you going?
Is it my mood?
My face?
Myself?
Why are you leaving?

Nobody's here.
It's quiet.

Leave me here.
I'll be okay.

Everything's gone.
Everyone left.

Is it over?

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Daedalan, in the year 631 AF.