It's all relative.
A reoccurring measure.
The same hellos and goodbyes.
A rose.
Red now only through the daggers they wield.
A pedal for each their own.
And as they fall away.
Saturated.
Lifelessly performing.
Arrogantly consuming beyond its means.
Just to resemble what will always be remnant.
For that's all there is left.
A perfected parody to a lesson lost among these..
Adamant followers.
Distraction leads to complacancy.
Which inevitably resorts to a persona of pain.
Wander lust envokes the soul.
Calamity is assured.
Waste not the effort to react.
For there will be no natural to this disaster.
Only a faint whisper.
Beyond that.
I will not say.