Soliloquy

I make lies to hide my ways,
Disdained in repressed thoughts,
The thorn of misery takes shape.

Sordid yet not sad,
A hope in memories deep.
Whispering voices engulfed in affection,
Misty shades laid in sombre sleep.

Through the slits of my hand,
I see rays of spring.
Not days of hope,
But truth that creates my sin.

I draw on my most pleasant night,
Forlorn my thoughts of self-hate,
The lights are declined.
In my last mourning I still pray,
Let hope be dead, the sky in gray.