Melancholic Torpor.

The eternal midnight dew travels from its lacrimal origin
And across the vast expanse of melancholic decrepitude.
It vividly pierces into the precipice of abyss and uncertainty,
Obnoxiously protracting the state of an entrenched forlorn.

The eternal midnight dew gushes forth unceasingly,
Furtively notating each isolated moment of void emptiness.
The languished attempted to exhaust its endless torrent.
But in the state of unmitigated solitude, it lingered adrift.

Adrift, in the provocation of unsolicited uncertainties,
Indignation restively churns around the feet of the languished.
Rippled vagaries outline the blurred and hazy horizons.
And shatteringly obscured, are the shafts of the daylight.

Condescendingly, commiserations thrive within the sphere
Of the languished, from whom the eternal midnight dew
Streams wantonly. Betraying its earnest desires like a
Blasphemous entity consuming all that is with undue cause.

Shadows of misfortunes left along the gusty, twisted path,
Crafting the languished into an unknown and undefined soul.
Destiny took its course appallingly against what is deemed,
Hundredfold times, by the languished in its deepest yearnings.

Discretely, each desperations unfolds itself in the midst
Of transcendence, in moments undiscerned, unwanted.
The languished is drenched within its eternal midnight dew.
And to the Dark Night, it calls upon to heed its plea.