this day was not like any other.
hot air from her lungs
swirled steam in the death
of November.

I felt trust for the first time.
I trusted her to leave.

I crack a corny joke out of sheer anxiety,
I say: "Well, it is the fall."

She doesn't smile, or speak, of course.

She does the talking with her eyes,
and all I hear is goodbye.

we live in a wasteland
built by the madmen and
founded by demons
we wade through this sea
of chains and barbed wires
while they simultaneously
suffocate and scar,
killing us both slowly...

you can remind me
as much as you like
that there is good in the world
yet even though that might be true
it doesn't change the fact
that in every corner
of our realm of insanity
evil lies and lurks

no matter where we go,
there will always be darkness
terror hidden in the shadows
searching for a soul to feed on
for they are nothing but
dead and decayed wisps of anger
impatiently stirring fragments of hatred

who wait for you to come along