the art of sorrow

in the beauteous darkness of the night, with the moon shining cold silver on my face, the demon of my mind bedevils my dreams, the snake with two horns biting and striking, biting and striking, sinking its horns vengefully into my skull, injecting the venom of confusion, I whirl and twirl in a drunken dance, I stumble and fumble in my walk, to talk is ponderous, to see is ponderous, as the molten iron of hopelessness flows over my eyelids, like lava over the earth. the demon indefatiguable intertwines with my spine, the embroidery of misery is ever mine, I am the art of sorrow, and I will last forever.