These days tick by
In dawning arrogance.
I watch our race
Waste slowly down the drain.

Our sun creeps ahead
Peeking through cracked atmospheres,
To shrivel up already fading hearts.

As the day whispers by
The setting of sun will come
To bring upon
A yawning, drawn on night.

The night is when
The weak come out
To feast upon
The wealthy and the poor.

The night is when we rest again
As these days tick by
In dawning arrogance.

The little girl runs to her mother,
“Mommy, mommy!”
Wails and wails.
“What’s wrong sweetie?”
“I lost Mr. Snuffles.”

Searching to and fro,
Time and time again,
Nothing is found.
“Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll get another.”
The comfort is futile.

Emotions downcast,
She strays away.
The images
Are vivid in her mind.
The serenity
Found in a simple plaything.
The joy
Found in a loyal friend.

The walls are transcending to grey.
The hallways stretch on for miles.

Her room is desolate and defeated.
Children posters shrivel up and fall.
Toys are melting into the ground.

Staring off into the horizon of her window
Trees are blowing ashes in the wind.
The night sky falls down upon her.

She makes a slight turn and sees it,
A slight nudge of hope
Shining from corner of her bed.

Energy is surged into overdrive.
As she rushes forward
A single bird takes flight
Depicting a reason of happiness.

Squeezing little hands
Between bed and wall
A piece of her heart
Is found again.

She clutches it to the center of her chest.
A vow to never let go.

Blurring light is beginning to shine.
Color is returning to the eyes
Of a young girl.
Trees are sprouting from the ground
Again.

All sorrow is forgotten.

I have brought this woman up
Many times in the past.

Memories transpired
Of her flaring fire.
Vivid depictions
Consuming my mind.
A handful of dust
Is all that I am left.

She has left me choking on her dirt.
She has abandoned me in hallows.

I am stranded in the realm of her empty soul.
I am starving for attention I will never receive.

It is the street I gaze at internally.
Continually, unrelentingly she beckons.
She calls me to my gradual death.

She has led me to the pinnacle of my existence.
As she has driven me into the grit of granite.
I am ground into the concrete to remain.

I am trapped in the skinning of her grasp.
Melted image of a memory branded within.
This image is one with me, as I to her.

She is entered into my spirit.
Disconnected, empty, cold.
Stretched out, worn out, thin.

She is branded in my heart.
Red welts making up her name.
She continues to peel at my skin.

Without her, I am nothing,
Yet within her I am the ghost of a stranger.
I am the whisper of a lost reminiscent.

Lost in the murky shores of time,
Vanished into the gust of a hurricane,
Swallowed into the ocean of deviance.

Swallowed by the jaws of granite,
I  am digested through mess of intestines,
Mistaken for **** and thrown back out.

I am left with a handful of dust.
Memories transpired,
Of her flaring fire.
Vivid depictions
Consuming my mind.
A handful of dust
Is all that I am left.