My memories remain a shroud, that coil my judgement when my minds alone.
My emotions nothing but a dry cloud that roams.
I sit alone in my shadowed chateau,
Mind nothing but a luxury from a hollow curse of misery.
When I try to recover,
The infection only stirs,
I'm left with tears,
That only grow in turn.
My solutions nothing but theories,
And the fear to try them,
Only causes more worry.
For I have made many errors,
And tell many to none.
These stay with me,
Like it were my son.
To me this is normal,
It is home.
To many it is only sadness,
But to be honest,
I'm tired of being left alone.