These violent delights all meet violent ends 

Surface too quickly, and you get the bends 

Glutinous portions of all you can eat

Bitter reminder you thought was so sweet 

Error, implosive; mistake number ten

Still you repeat it and do it again 

Merry and jolly, unseen by the task

Worn to keep covered the darkness you mask

Laughter will merely just cover the tears

Shed over losing, the greatest of fears 

Revelries squandered, good taste and good will

Partying parlor; events than can kill 

Taste of the yolk sack; the embryo womb

Rotten and listless, the fetus's tomb

Rock and a hard place; the fall from up high

Living like eagles but humans can't fly 

Tripping on falsehoods, the wound never mends 

These violent delights all meet violent ends 

Once upon a moonbeam's hazing, as the light in pale streams glazing, bursting through the window's raising as I Facebooked friends of yore- Covered over, rather weepy- I, myself, had gotten sleepy, and the creepy moment hit me with a knocking at my door. "Just a wanderer," I mumbled, "come late, knocking at my door-

Simply this, and nothing more."

Now, exactly, I remember- there were chills of cold December, and the fireplace shared its members as if ghosts strewn on the floor. Desperately in my madness, ever emptied of my gladness from my phone removing sadness- sadness for my dead Lenore- Oh, the pristine, prudent package that the angels called Lenore-

Unnamed here forevermore.

And the dueling, dangling drapes departed as a flitting cape, and I became entangled with such fancies never felt before; so that I began denying; thought my mind, it must be lying, and replying, "Just some wanderer there knocking at my door- Some wanderer come late and simply knocking at my door;

Only this, and nothing more."

When I placed aside my cellphone, suddenly a spooky ringtone rang and sang a tune as I decided I should go explore ... "Madam? Sir? I have grown sleepy, and the moment, rather creepy, has me waning, almost weepy by your knocking at my door. Did I dream you?" I said softly as I opened up the door;

Emptiness, and nothing more.

Forced into the empty viewing, how I stood and tried renewing, in the brewing of my psyche thinking things none thought before; but the hollow void that chose me, swallowed all in shallow poesy, and the wind made my cheeks rosy as I spoke the word, "Lenore?" This I uttered, and it muttered back upon me in "Lenore!"

Simply this, and nothing more.

Running back into the hallway, I grew faint from such a word play, then I heard the knocking rocking louder than it had before. "I will Google late night sounds upon my phone about these grounds," then turned around deciding once again that I should go explore- "Catch my breath and forfeit death in this enigma to explore;

Could be the wind, and nothing more."

To the window I strode, branded, as I looked beyond, remanded, and in landed such a Raven as those Odin did adore. In the opening I gave him flew the fowl fiend in the moon's dim light and made his way upon the board atop my bedroom door- Stretching neck and feathers rudely there atop my bedroom door-  

Stretched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this dark bird gave me reason to believe it born of treason and no season of the holiday could alter or ignore. "Let me get my phone- I'll rave in how this night I've felt a cave-in as you've come to see me, Raven, from some far off distant shore! Speak into my phone and offer where you hail from- yes, what shore!"

Said the Raven, "Nevermore."

I recorded as he flitted, waxing wings so neatly fitted, I acquitted him of any common sense I thought he bore; for with what my eyes were seeing, surely not a human being ever since me, here agreeing this vile thing atop my door- This vile thing, a demon spawning hatred high atop my door

With a name like "Nevermore."

But the Raven sat there only seeming listless, brooding, lonely and again he only spoke one word and mentioned nothing more. I rekindled as time dwindled and my phone, I held and spindled out disgust at what the Raven said to me, and had before. May he leave me at the sunrise as most birds have done before.

And the bird said, "Nevermore."

Not recording, now in hoarding all the dark fiend said while lording, I surmised, "This is the only thing within its spoken store, taught from some dumbfounded owner, sending out this bird, a loner, and the moaner must have gaped and raped the one word that it bore- Nestled deeply in its vocal chord where eerily it bore

Its 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven, still in treason, had me frazzled in my reason, so I moved a futon stationed there beyond my bedroom door; then upon my pillow sinking, I then popped a top and drinking beer, resounded that this bird that only Odin did adore- What this mystic, cryptic bird that only Odin did adore

Meant in cawing "Nevermore."

I reclined and went to guessing what the syllables expressing in confessing just one word as beady eyes burned through my core; with my iPhone set for finding information thus reminding that the knowledge sought was binding as I laid back to explore; with that binding, blinding knowledge sought, I laid back to explore- 

Shall she sink, ah, nevermore!

Then the phone fell from my hand, and feeling sick, I tried to stand but thought I saw the Seraphim come trodding o'er my hardwood floor. "Fool," I laughed, "Your God sent you; by this angel, He has lent you, and in my disgust, I meant to take back thoughts of dead Lenore! Caw and caw, but I will take back all these thoughts of dead Lenore!"

Said the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Mystic!" said I, "thing of magic, mystic, or a thing born tragic!- whether teasing me, or teased upon as you have flown ashore- Desolation, as I wanted, all this horror in me haunted, and the isolation daunting as I beg you to implore- is there balm in lavender- oh, tell me, tell me, I implore!"

Said the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Mystic!" said I, "thing of magic, mystic, or a thing born tragic!- by the Universe created by the God that I abhor- Please reveal the hidden measure of the secret, longing treasure, give me pleasure one last time- the maiden angels called Lenore! Will I hold and be held by the maiden angels called Lenore?"

Said the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Say that name as we are finished, and my use for you diminished as I look upon my phone a way to drive you back ashore. Leave no feather to remember that your eyes like blazing embers this December came, now go and leave from off my bedroom door! Get your beak from out my heart and leave from off my bedroom door!"

Said the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, as I'm grieving, never leaving, never leaving, still is perching on the board atop my lonesome bedroom door; and his eyes have all the scheming of a demon in the beaming light that casts his shadow dreaming all across my wooden floor; and my soul from in his shadow floating off my wooden floor 

Shall find freedom- nevermore! 

The leg of my son was the last thing I ate

His spleen and his liver are next

Another reminder of hell upon earth 

A cannibal; I am perplexed 

Am I any better than all the undead

Am I any less of a ghoul

Am I not the monster I fight every day

Or am I just flesh, bone and drool

My daughter ran off and has joined in the horde

Her mother was who I ate first 

My wife had been bitten; I cut off that limb 

And then curbed the hunger and thirst 

The burning of flesh brought up bile from my gut

But when I carved out of her thigh 

The heavenly taste was like nothing I'd had

Devouring her heart got me high 

Rebecca had bolted; she just couldn't stay

But watching her flee in the street

The zombies all gathered and bit out her brain

It must have been tasty to eat

I watched her rise up, and she shambled away

My son and I left in the room

His illness would claim him in just a few days

But that didn't fill me with gloom

My stomach grew empty in just a few days

Of finishing Shelia's remains

As Tommy passed on, I made up quite a fire 

And counted his death in my gains

Correct my assumption, but now that they're gone

My food source has dwindled to none

It's time to get moving or I'll end up dead

And my time is surely not done

I don't think those shamblers know what i can do

I don't think they fear what I am

But look out, I'm coming, my knife in my hand

I'll eat you and don't give a damn ...

        That's right, broken. So visualize a crystal ball. Make it your favorite color. A perfect, luminous crystal ball. This object represents your soul in its purest form. The ball gets exposed to pressure, though. Time and pressure. Imagine the moon crashing into the earth; now imagine the equivalent of that with your soulball. It gets broken. It takes a beating. Psychological moons and asteroids, one after the other; an utter, samsaric, bombardment. Shards of crystal go flying, get dispersed, collide against one another. Some fall outside the gravitational field of your soulball, and travel into the celestial beyond. Now press pause. Rewind. 

        Slower. Even slower. This is the process, represented on the monitor of your mind while projected by the light of your mind's eye, denoted by Carl Jung as "individuation." The "rewind" metaphor is inaccurate because we don't become unbroken in the same sequence, order of breakerations, as the process between now and when your soulball was perfect. Said metaphor is accurate in its portraying that we are broken and that we can unbreak - or heal - ourselves bit by bit, shard by shard, trauma by trauma, over time.