The Book of the Dead.

I stand in fragments, I am just a broken mirror.

No reflection to be seen,
no longer shining,
just shattered pieces of what I use to be.

There is no self to recognize,
only a mind you wouldn't want to see.

An empty bookshelf,
A blank canvas,
A cup you wouldn't want to drink from; now this is me.

And I am far beyond a head above water,
I exist in a sea, my world is an ocean,
everything is upside down to me,
And I am only happy in the gray; when it is raining.

They say misery loves company,
they never said that I would.

It's easier to love the pain,
and stand in the darkness,
because you forget what the sun does,
It's too difficult to imagine a future,
when all you do is dream about the end.

And what can be said?
That the dark ones love death?
But you know not every story has a happy ending;
If you knew mine
you wouldn't want to be standing there;
It's a double edged sword.

There's no one for the hero to save,
Because the hostage gets use to being captured,
you know not every house is a home,
and pain is the only gift I have here, life's only promise is the certainty of death.