You are in love. I'm glad.
For me, it is ironically sad.
Of sleepless nights my eyes are red
Like if I were a walking dead.
Mist in my head torn by my clad
Is something there behind to spread?
When empty, nothingness you lend.
And there's no place for me to land
And neither joy makes sense nor dread.
And where's the stillness I once had?
Life: never for a piece of bread
So, that's how my streamheart was shed.