Down the Rivers Acheron and Styx

These everlasting emeralds
drip from my face.
Each a crystalized snowflake
drifting towards my pillow.

This empty song
resonates from my heart.
Each note a vacant chord
that creates a solitary melody.

Those Acheronian thoughts
lurk ever persistent in my mind.
Each decaying towards my spirit
with little will to survive.

That which was lost
shall never return to me.
Each minute describes the pain
which is the lust of deception.