All.
The mindless purchases
The green leaves we inhale
The uncontrollable laughter
The never ending sky scrapers
The musicians in the street

Do not change the fact.
That we are all alone
We have all been used up
We cannot measure up.
That we were not present
The day the obscurity faded.

However, they remind us.

That our souls remain alert.
Striving for revival.

"And his Blood beating the old tattoo, I am, I am, I am."- Sylvia Plath

Spiralling into nothingness
Grabbing for eternity
Longing for black silence
To exist and not feel
To breathe but not think

Becoming a number
I inhale my true self
Exhale meaningless noise
Obscure colours remain
They are all that matters

I am Insignificant, but I am.

I see entire galaxies in boxes,
Reflections of the world in a broken mirror.
Shattered by sheer ignorance.

Nobody can hear her.

Twenty three billion souls,
The girl knows not which is her.
There will always be tolls.
Please allow her entrance, good sir.

I hope you taste the stars,
For the universe is upon you.

Looking to the man amongst the stars for help,
How much decay must be suffered?
We're all worshiping ourselves.
Heedless and destructive are the infinite eyes.

The girl searched and searched,
Father time turned her old.
By the time she found her soul,
It was already sold.

The girl was taken aback.
“I’ve been searching can’t you see?”
She begged and she pleaded.

“Darling, If you left it with me,
It must not be needed.”

How desolate and dark it must be in her head,
Once animate ideas are now dead, dead, dead.
Thunder takes residence,
Where the sun once resided.

Oh what a celebration,
This society has provided.

I hope you taste the stars,
For the universe is upon you.

Trees tower high above hesitant heads,
In the time before it housed only small critters.
They could not speak, therefore they were enchanted.
Now it is home to much more sinister creatures.

They expect the world to fit their naïve moulds.
When it does not, their sand castles blow away.
Grain by grain they are relocated by external forces,
The majority have an infinite amount of names for them.

All of these celestial men are not men at all,
They have no interest in our wrong- doings.
They do not care whether we chant their names.
Celestial men cannot see, they never take revenge.

For gravity has no eyes.

He drags his ****** feet through the forest.
An apocalypse of peace, now consumed by flames.

All that is green becomes black as the mighty
Transformer inches closer to the edge.

Metamorphosing  destruction at its finest.

He can only continue on as he is gently caressed.
By fire, death and the depths of the hell.

The morning sun takes its place in the heavens.
All that remains is darkened dust dancing in the wind.

There’s a girl with a purple complexion,
Black eyes and stark white pupils.
Blue and white feathers atop her head.
She resides in the dimension within brown sky
In which the teal galaxy collapses star by star.

It unravels, atom by atom, forcibly ripped apart.
By a creator so elusive even the dead are ignorant.
The puppeteer left Pinocchio to rot and decay.
Salt water travels down his wood-carved face.
The girl cries along with the soulless rib of tree.

She introduces Lord Pathos to his hard knock heart.
“Neither ethos, nor pathos can decipher this knot.”
Only father time has the power to dismantle the rope.
Her fingers grow weak, maneuver until they break.
Time arrives late; the moss and fungus return home.

There is nothing less tragic; than the death of a puppet.

No
desperation.
Beyond the blue
Eternal
Decay.
Beyond the blue
Mythical
inhalation.
Beyond the blue
sentient
vanish
Beyond the blue
Only
Black.
Beyond the blue
I am looking
towards
Beyond the blue.