In the land of the wasteful

The flesh is bound to despairing

Unmovable feasts

All dreams dreamt away

In the shallows of sleep

As transient as blood

Orange shades of clarity

In the mind blindly

seeking sun

sincerity and kindnesses

Not those in the land

Of the wasted…

Pain is as hollow and as full as

The hearts of mannequins

When already the broken who pose

Now lets go, passed long ago

Since childhood's end

Not having known

To recognize

Or find oneself

In the beauty of a world

We played pretend.

In the land of waiting

For our sadnesses to end

Waking up alone

After all

In the land of ungrateful men.


(The kind have gone extinct

once again.

The End.)