They say, "You talk like a boo

In the ruined garden, With chiliad of characters inside, There exists a forged lacuna. Tethered in the web of lies, The soul being trapped. Breathing succumbs And bones being snapped. What will be your night; Be like before demise? When it's time to bid farewells for your soul... There's an insight. Why I've often waited for myself in those alien streets. Cause now I'm a stranger with all my secrets, With a badly written third act. The storms in my head ruined that garden, That garden in my soul. Maybe that's why I seek a book, Maybe that's why I talk like a book...