The cries are heard, from the souls of the ******,

As they drown in melancholia, while others watch, but fail to help.

In the ocean of pure depression, they struggle,

But their feet, constricted, by clusters of kelp.


They swallow the waves, but still starve for sympathy,

They lose their sanity, the torture, turns them wild.

And the inhuman beings just stare, at the lives being demolished,

Like the vulture, that stared, at Carter's dying child.