Lost is the Forest of lie's, drowning from the pressure of expectations, falling in to endless despair, tortured in this barbaric world.
Wearing the mask of a fool, until I found my sword. A pen and paper, I wrote a poem of hope, I found my weapon to survive in this world, I found my hope,
My pen is my sword.
I created my own garden, the garden of bliss, I feel a sense of accomplishment.
That was then and now I am in the void, holding eternal Bliss.