The power I once revelled in has forsaken me, Leaving me scouring for a cherished moment— A final attempt at painting a smile on this face that has grown dull, Alas, it is as futile as a man who drinks to forget his sins My heart races, pounding relentlessly, like the vibrant drums echoing at a grand festival It is said that one is most alive right before death, Could this be a harbinger hinting at an inevitable end? Could I have known love, had I chosen a path of life? Regret bares its teeth, gnawing at the core of my soul Perchance an afterlife awaits—in its shadows I must decide: What path shall I tread?