Nights like these remind me of the times I felt, times when I had feelings. Feelings I had buried deep inside of me. Because they never brought me anything but pain and despair.
When the night air smells like now, I tend to recall the moments of desire, tender intentions, romantic dreams and foolish hope for love.
These remembrances haunt me. They tend to rise from their graves like undead ghouls and shake my calm. For such reminiscences I now feel nothing but resentment for making me what I am.
They are like ghosts. Roaming about the dark empty hallways of the castle of my heart. At times I can hear the echoes of their wailings from the forsaken corners of my mind. Painful screams coming up from the cellars, torture chambers, creepy towers of this fortress of nightmares. But this heart cannot be conquered. For it is empty, and there is nothing but the smell of ancient memories of desperation.
And nights like these,
I watch again,
On the the Moon's silverscreen,
The noir movie,
Of my m