Empty shed

Love, I'm leaving you again. All I wanted was pleasure all along and in the end pain was meant to be. In this house that I've been building in my mind, the room with the empty bed belongs to me. Those sheets with tainted letters are called disease with four simple words that cause so much lies and pain to the naivest and weak. This wicked life that I see in front of me, this lone path that I've taken by option to follow leaves me so hollow. So I came down to myself, broke down the walls, took out the bed along with curtains and the windows. So much time left yet such a desire to leave this empty shed.
After so much blood gone to waste, tears wouldn't wash this loss away. Your grave is kept grey and the grass is as green as the eyes of destruction could be. So the dust covers the memories and the rust fills the guitar. Once again those six strings cry a chord and make a melody in the white room. It's a nail, a stone that reminds me that you were here and now gone. Who would come to say that I would hang that old body in the storage outside, in this October that was more than brown and yellow? In my head, everything falls to place, as well as the puzzle get completed and generates an image of the perfect sunset with your shadow, your hand holding the hair that flies with the wind, a lonely tear painted grey with life.
Tomorrow brand new melody, in the blue morning of the birds, I'm in constant mourning and relived from this burden. I left behind that cliff of despair, what more can I do? Tears won't bring the memories to life. This epiphany is the demonstration of the halo that burns over my head. And time... time just seems to take away the hair and the hopes, along with the sea that separates your world from mine. It continues black, uncertain, this fog blinds. I struggle myself and my egocentric mind awakens to one more text of sadness and talking about me and my pain, my fantasies and dreams. Burn the paper, destroy the world, let the beginning of utopia come, so unplanned but desired. As my forest grows, within me parasites, let them burn in the bushes of secrecy. And then let this empty shed fall down, down to the ground.