Midnight thorns grew for each teardrop that stroked my face
With a heart full of stitches and pins
And for each memory, a mask of remembrance grew like a flower of death
In a golden cage of betrayal and deception, I dwelled in utter solitude
Faraway from the vulnerable and wicked sight of mortals
At each instant, my expectations arose under the shape of lifeless trees
No season and no hour differentiated the realm of midnight thorns
A persistent aura of doom distinguished this gilded dungeon
No sun was rising on the horizon
Only the several moons dared to appear in all their splendour and dark emotionlessness
My dwelling was a castle made of pure gold and decadence
Amid an enchanted forest of malicious spirits and magic spells
From each mirror, an unknown countenance emerged
As if my reflection shifted with every passing instant
Mystical fanfares and funeral laments wavered like otherworldly fragments of sorrow
Echoing within the hollow walls of my golden dungeon
Elegies without words hovered as mourning tributes to obliterated dreams
The chandeliers wept waxen tears made of gold
And all the chambers and hallways trembled beneath imperceptible footsteps
I strolled in mourning robes, carrying secrets and grief
I followed the trail of dark shadows, finding no merriment
I had lost myself and all my hopes were obliterated
Everything was buried beneath the ashes of my forsaken dreams
And the shadows had become friends of my own melancholy
The glooms were the reflection of my own melancholy
And all the mirrors were portraits watching quietly with their empty eyes
No sound beckoned my name, and no aid came from the darkness
There I was surrounded by the heady perfume of ancient roses and antiquity dust
I ceded to midnight thorns, the venom of demise and drama.
Elisabetta