Liquid tongues and long faces dance around me like dogs; Maddened with insanity that pulses through me like electricity. Oh to be young and dying in the cold; No air left to breathe with no space to live. Colour is my enemy as it taunts my face and brushes it red. Through the dark decay of life on this god forsaken rock; All is forsaken in a non existent god who neither cares nor feels our pain. As we pour our efforts into days that grow short; Distracting ourselves from our pain.  It is like a drug in our poor minds; Begging on the street for more. Hell, the pain makes us human; Makes us feel. It brings light to that bottomless void in us and fills it with something that makes us feel alive. Without it, who are we to say we exist; With false fantasies of happiness conjured up by some puppeteer or dreamer; Where we are mere atoms that make up their life. But the pain makes us live; Makes it true. Makes us alive where otherwise we would be dying. It fills the void.