"Worries of A Colossal Skull"

 Listening to a sad Beethoven's symphony,

Strings of the violin could heal the scar,

I'm fine,deeply scar'd with few thoughts scythed from the dead past,

Severe battles,wars of violence and blood but not really can I feel as it's all alive in a mind for first and to last,

Sometimes few echoes and the next time a wild wail,there I am dying inside a human skull,

Everything is bizarre or strange,

Even the strings feed my sore blood,

Because I, Me is lost in search of the ruler of this mind who is "The Grim Reaper"

One shall again take me to the where,there were my skull once remain and rest in knotted pieces of peace,

Wreck'd amidst of odd stars and rippling vehemence,

Won't get rid of the prison suffering from bygone storms called "Memories"

"Metamorphosis" is an art and the reason of living inside a hollow cave of tenebrous slender soul,

Vaguely through what am I like dead and alive,why am I melancholic? 

Because I don't know to justify all these fierce cluster of thoughts,

In a rage of unknown emptiness bud from the blithe,

Here, There ,"All sadness, Is not depression,

All depression is no melancholics,

But Awe, All that wounds you heal, is dread,

So there any words so I can wear on a depression so is it not naked,

Because It's not  good to be dressed depressed.