There’s no time for heroes I scream out in the dark,

As narcotic times past are pushed through the dust,

Leaving no warmth in lieu or last shedding light,

We run scared of ourselves and eachother alike,

With nothing but the pity of stars and scars of delight,

Not fearing death but instead lying in wait,

As the sandpapers of time take all but our skin,

Spilling ourselves in grey silent rooms,

Grief over banality is a saccharine mess,

Not knowing best which sins to confess,

But when I’ve breathed out all my toxins my bones can rest,

Sacred satisfied,

Still