Disentomb thyself from this aphotic abyss,

Go forth and rise.

Thy soul is but morose,

Not forsaken.

Stale and taciturn,

Shall thee remain reticent?

Withdraw from such illusions!

For your sanguinary battle is but assumed.

Wipe thy tears and body,

Your hands are not imbrued,

Purge thee from such abhorrent figments.

Such peripheral details you dwell unto.

Seek internally what is postulated as wayward,

Amend a perspective of thy mangled self-image,

As I am au courant with what you are oblivious to…

Such a capacious soul in which love abounds,

Remedial touch, a glance which alleviates all that is vexing.