Our minds are so morbidly scary
In bouts of silence and dark
That we can imagine death, destruction, blood, A SPARK.

Knives cutting holes in our paper-thin skin,
Kids throwing rocks till their brains turn pulpy,
Bridges rocking and creaking, skin hitting ice,
Smashing our souls on concrete..

It cures a hidden desire, worse than lust or need or want.

And on that note:
The world is turning
And with it, morbid minds.