Man Until The Mourning

Why is it for me to be happy so wrong and to be angry for so long?
I can't hold any other in so many ways to blame for so many days for the many mistakes the way I blame myself when there's nobody else because I'm the only one.
Now that my composure is wrong, I feel weak that my Armour is gone.
I sit at empty table listening to fables how it can be for a man who's armors strong, one that they wore when a title lasted the whole battle before the day was done.
But it's like one hand on the worn out hilt at the end of a blade when I'm chained with every link to the end of the corridor of this low down hall.
Yet it's confusing, time consuming but there's no turning back with the sickened guilt and shame invaded on my grave with no marked name to speak from the mouth of the holy word.
No doubt its a no call no show profound by the teachings in portrayed from the paintings of a wall they marked in blood too deep "Forever Let This Pour Soul Scream" a finger within hollowed promises this is how they want to see me breathe with vigor in disbelief that the words couldn't come out quicker until it poured out to the hearts that it couldn't bring together but to see it bleed.