Untitled - June 29, 1998

How fleeting life is,
like a candle
that flickers in the wind.

Madness is not the ledge
that I have descended upon,
but the cloak that hides
the great unhappiness that I feel.

Slowly I drop,
further into the despair
that has become me.

Or perhaps it is depression.

I can seek no solace for there is
no shelter for the sinner.