Here I am alone in somber,
resting calmly in my chamber.
Suddenly there rose a clatter,
I hear it calling out to me.
“Who's there that my eyes cannot see?”
I said as the voices replied,
“Misery is me, I am your misery.”
I rose from my slumber,
with haste of morning ember;
to be stopped by an essence of me.
“How can this be?” I said. “Truly it cannot be me.”
“This is too real.” I thought, even for a dream;
truly it cant even be a ream.
“So who are you to be a reflection of me?”
Thus he replied, “I am your misery.”
He said he is my misery;
if that is the case, how can that be?
I've been stricken with pain so long,
that I do not know what went wrong.
I've succumb to numb,
weary, dreary, and some;
for I know not what would become of me,
if I was to set it free.
I know now this will be the end of me;
to be killed by my own misery.
I reach deeply within myself,
grasping loose my forgotten feelings;
as my misery whispered in my ear; taunting me,
“Your time is near.”
Must this be? I feel I'm not ready.
For all the things that I have done, truly am I sorry.
This is truly the end of me,
thus my last words be;
“Misery is me, I am my misery.”