How many people have I acted as a therapist for?
No less than 20.
I have all their names written.
And yet, now When I'm the one who needs help
When I'm the one nearing the end of my days
None of them, are here to help me

Statice
Senses are dull, vision is null.
Nothing holds meaning, nothing creates happiness,
Alone in the rivers of hell I drift, reaching towards the sky for help.
And yet, I still feel nothing.
Why, why, why?
Where are my emotions?
In the ground state, all is dark.

Thoughts of being able to close my eyes, and feel you hugging me.
My soul may be more complete with us fused.
But how I miss you, ever dearly, my Lune.

An on and off friendship of twelve years, burnt into cinders You were one of the last, from those early days
You gave me the persona of Dusk, for that I am ever grateful
But in losing you, a sadness is inevitable
You may forget me, but I will never forget you

I am turning this into a poetry archival account.

A fatal disease, of the spiritual heart.
Shattered, into infinitely many shards of glass.
Is there no one capable of mending my soul?
Alone, in the abyss of eternity,
I continue to beckon the end, continue to descend towards oblivion.

With this blade, I pierce the world.
With this blade, I shatter my soul.
May you drown en rouge,
May the world refuse to turn.
For this seal shall bind our souls.