The simplest of shapes are losing their form.
The sun will blend in with the shade at this rate
I can't stand up in this storm.
No safety in numbers, but death by swarm.
Winds of change whelp under gravity's weight.
The simplest of shapes are losing their form.
Chaos cracks its knuckles 'fore sacking the norm
then squashes infinity- not one line's left straight.
I can't stand up in this storm.
Providence whimpers as fate's left forlorn.
Pandemic obscurity greedily takes
the simplest of shapes and scrambles their form.
Hurled into reverse, things once dead are born.
The simplest of forms are losing their shape.
I can't stand up in this storm.
Lives flash before me- things start to go warm.
Time left for prayer, but I fear it's too late.
The simplest of shapes are losing their form
I can't stand up in this storm.