Melancholy called my name and pursued me with unyielding effort.
And one day he came and sat beside me and fondled my desires; his face beautiful and promising joy.
He painted his portrait on my wall, with incandescent colours that shook my blissful ignorance.
Melancholy brought me joy, a paradox yet to reveal gnashing teeth, grinning bright and white as its lies.
And the cynister grey, flickering beneath the sheep skin,
He painted his portrait thick and black,
With an arrow pointed straight at my heart,
The vast canvas of joy that delighted me,
Revealed secrets that tore and ruptured my heart,
And guillotined the purity of my once happy.
And now melancholy lives within me, my bludgeoned heart slow and cautious,
Weeping a tune of his painful tale.