Tales of Torment: A Bittersweet Symphony

sometimes i think of me,

in the possibility that i might've been

appointed to agony‐

forced to face the music these tales of torment make

a cacophonic but, bittersweet symphony,

played by the hands of void's company

and orchestrated by torture's statue‐

such exposure to a patienceless virtue,

trials of experience that bring but a harsh familiarity

with the side of the mask that faces me‐

the music that faces me,

is but a bittersweet symphony‐

notes i see written on faces that cry, like mine

i hear in voices deafened by silence, like mine

they echo the melody of slumber's absence

and create the rhythm that holds together hatred's mirror

that hangs across the hall from a door to my library,

what walls contain but all of my diaries of war‐

the faces of whom i continue to write for,

there's a book for one of all faces of the faceless‐

faces that have been placeless,

faces that sing of these tales of torment,

faces drawing circles in the sideways rain,

faces tossed to and fro by the waves of the sea of red

downstream from hope,

upstream, of dread‐

faces i hope to change,

with words like "me too" that echo through these tales of torment

words that will sing "you are seen"

to the faces of those in seats,

in both front and rear most row,

and all in between,

listening,

to this bittersweet symphony‐

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Thank you for reading! Here’s another from the Tales of Torment collection.