I promise,
It was better while we waited,
When we were unaware of the end,
At least, for then,
We would smile and grieve,
Look at us now,
Corpses trying to breath,
Clutching on our breaking bones,
In this bleak space,
Where its standard to chuckle at pain,
You can feel the ossified agitation,
The unheard mutters of dark horses,
Who've for ages faced the harrow,
Rode on Excruciation,
And charming on blown over times,
While praying for better days.