I am all out of inspiration, my life a desolate hell.

I don't feel well, on a precipice might just end all my relations.

Desperation to make it cease, before I too am just a shell.

Maybe he fell, or maybe he was pushed by the temptation.




Either way, he knew something... A secret.

Couldn't tell anyone, there was no speaking.

Seeking an easier way to explain. Possibly with feelings?

Pealing faces away, shouldn't do any harm.




Never existed? That's wishful thinking.

A fistful of change, loaded and ready to meet the misfit's mesure.

Yet the virus was still there, slinking towards its next victim.

Another, and another, and yet another. It goes on forever and forever. No forgetting.