Drowning spectators with hollow eyes,
Crucified demons remain inside,
Trying to be rid of their sullen crimes
Journeys through thinnest of thicks,
The revolting resolution makes all sick,
Burning at both ends of the wick
We are all spared in the eyes of our own
By those of us who share the word "home",
Although, it seems no light has shone,
I can't imagine a place so corrupt,
The fictional realities, this world is ******,
I pray for plague, some kind of luck,
To bring about some sort of disaster,
Upon the broken hand of each caster,
Of woe and porcelain alabaster.  
All the questions not withstanding,
I remain glad to be not worth saving.