An anthology of love, loss and melancholy. Picture if you will, a dark lover. A soul, marred with guilt. A heart, redolent of vehement sorrow. Agony was the only language he knew as his breath echoed the unheard fables of torment. The night was his beloved and the moon, his paramour. Untold sufferings barbed his songs and his quill bled the wretched synonyms of grief. Silence rhymed with his teardrops as he, in his meaningless monologues of pain, courted death. Picture if you will, a short book, complied with the monotonous rantings of such a soul.