From the artist to her muse...
I resort to this when I think of you,
The most beautiful artwork invoked by your memory.
No happiness can bring me to this gift,
Except my bittersweet reminiscence.
Cease to find courageous scribes,
This thought unworthy,
This ink wasted,
No appreciation of this praise.
Bring yourself to comprehend!
Gather your emotions all in the name of this verse.
Blind yourself not to this sublime literature.
See not with your eyes,
But your beating vision of crimson flames.
Rivers flow and oceans roar
In my heart and soul
To the momentous nothings,
Of which I lost myself
In wholesome anguish.
Nay! I fathom not the definition of futility,
But only in the context of the tremor that shook my ghosts.
Nothing yet everything,
You are to me,
Baring not new earth but explosions of hell-fire.
Grasping onto your disguised paw,
You clawed me to my doom.
I love not, but I do.
I despise this scripture,
This passion I possess
Provoked by an apathetic being.
Psychological imbalance and solitude serve common ground
In this baffled mind.