Let them be harsh,
as society cannot exist with calm.
They prefer downpours of anger, not peace.

I’d rather be dead,
latching onto whatever piece of humanity
that is left.

That warmth that I once felt,
in the arms of my people, is now gone,
replaced by an icy death,
cold cascading down my back.
Those words, that were once imprisoned, by the angel on their shoulders,
do they leak through like water in a dam?
or is just a flood of things that could no longer be contained.

I’d rather be air and dust, than
lurk in the shadows, a shadow myself.
Watching the world tear at its hinges,
pulling close the curtains of humility,
has darkened the lights of their souls.
I don’t want to remember the world, why let it remember me?

I’d rather love no one and be loved by no one else,
for remembrance seems to cause pain.
I’d rather be forgotten, or better yet, erased.