Living is the beginning to the life
Which never changes to live the life
Which is the beginning to death.
The light you see; every corner a room of white
The light which hides from the darkness in every corner,
A room is wise to hide the light from dark will steal and eat.
Spots of light shine white against darkness within the mind we once called sane.
A white room a black and grey
A hand of blood upon a wall of white in black and grey.
A life of black in mind, tied in to the sheet of whitened grey.
Never is the mind of ‘sane a mind of thought of create to hold,
but the thought of creative mind, in sane to think awake a mind should think.
Slivers of light dance shone against the blade on a mind of white we once called sane.
A girl with crimson hair locks in fire lie against a skin of alabaster ghostly white,
dance ‘cross the walls a white room of black and grey.
The crimson lips of blood lie first, they drank to bless the soul in eyes of green turned black the mind of one we once called sane.
Through open eyes sleeps the light with eyes pierce the sleeping
White with black in mind.
In corners lies the mind awake afraid of light which hides the darkness of thought unsowed
The mind of dark softly sleeps.
Watches the sleep the sane does creep from corners lost light of billowing sun or moon.
Creeps through rooms, love-lost-of-life to the darkness of moon to sun.
A whiteless pale lost of sleep does find respite in death.
In white room a mind lost of sleep to black in mind.
Does find hands of blood with crimson locks of fire to the tiny rays of light.
A sleepless mind does find its rest as darkness creeps back its home of corners and closed out nooks, where to it will breed its sane to hold.
No longer black and grey the windows pain screams burning rays of sun and smiles fall to the mind.
A white room but white light shone to burn the darkness we once called sane.