The Boy With The Fabricated Heart

Beforehand I was withered by my mind's tormented despondency, where I weep and ponder. 

What has thee constructed in my heart of clay?

This maiden of whom I perceive no one more than that of she I'm fonder. 

Wherein I attribute her the contentment upon my nerves that play. 

Words are of a hopeless attempt to depict even a portion of the fragrance of her solicitude, that has bathed my spirits in an enchanting paradise. 

Ay, the perpetual thoughts of her have ceased what once I brood.

Ascend me, angel at my beckon, let me rise. 

For I was descended down from my actuality, disoriented by subconscious devils who stained me pale as the moon and cold as a northern wind. 

How now such a heart as bleak as mine, at her mercy seems to tinge.

My desolate youth is rearranging in synthesis of consolation and relief. Some kind of mutation in my abnormality, changing into something utopian and magnificent. 

It is love, is it not? 

Did I find the hope that was lost, perhaps hope found me, and I found belief in hope.

I am in a perplexed mind state.

I am in love, more or less. 

Now must I collect myself and all my wellbeing. I must recount my journey through the eyes of my healer. Thou who has fabricated something lively into my spiritless perspective. 

I am the boy with a heart fashioned from the snaffled fire of my own prometheus, the maker of my welfare, and she has liberated me from the unceasing servitude of my devils with which are confined to my mind and soul. 

The foretaste of euphoria was conveyed to my youthful hearts door.

 Inside my naive and young heart, she craved it with the most tender love, and the fond enthusiasm of her indefatigable shrewdness has animated my spirits. She is the semblance of my growth, the sense of roseate in my boyish youth. She has modified the factor of my existence. 

I would not relinquish this strange yet tranquil mindstate for man nor God himself. If I am to be punished for my man made longevity, given to me by she, then I will rot in the torment of hell, but for now while my veins are still emitting sparks of life; I will live with peace on my heart and mind that was given to me by man. If this trickery of creation is fallacious, then let my soul be bathed in the fire of hell, I fear not the approaching torment on my soul, for I have known once already, a hell far greater than the devil himself; And that is the hell of my mind's own unsought agony.

From birth I was condemned. I was created in the bleak outcome of desolation and sorrow, and yet by her flame of tender love, has placed something vibrant and full of enthusiastic life into my heart. I am the boy with the fabricated heart.