Endless courtships, few emotions,
Fifty-four ages now past
tired of the same old lines
devoted to capture a non existant heart

Overcome in uneasy comfort
a darker shade penetrating through my shell,
though fearing the desire to succumb
I'm wondering is there's a he who can not fail

Trapped in the conflict of allure
fighting the fear that strikes me dumb,
certain that I shall be unsure
I chase a figure yet to be found

Still, the dark desire shall unfold
through the blood that trickles cold
and comfort comes as Death sits on the underworld throne
feeding slowly on love, marriage, and parasites born


Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Khepary, in the year 90 MA.