I told the story of those dire times.
Beginning to transpire all those suffering and culled.
A singing choir on the dawn of a cold desolate world.
Their song a hopeful tune, as the desperation creeps down their backs.

Mold growing, it never feels like something to admire.
Watching raindrops flow down the window on a cold autumn night.
Wishing it was snow falling, but all the world had to offer is ash.

The silence is unsettling, more abnormal then the sound of screams.
Roots extending under your feet, the ground never sleeps.
A sharp stinging as we fall from grace.

A snail's pace as I walk through the halls.
Twisting and turning, pretending as if they are still.
Any sense of hope, rotted and festering, maggots crawling in my mind.

A leech, hated for its hunger, just wanting to survive.
A harsh reality, wishing I could wake up.
Crawling on the ground, the weight making it to hard to stand.

Misshapen, beaten to a pulp and laying on the ground.
Fog occluding vision, unable to view what lies on the sidewalk.
People walking past, ignorant to this tragedy on a lazy Sunday.

The landscape before you, so empty and grieved.
You never think of all the misery the ground must see.
Pridefully ignorant of the loss of admiration.

Gentle dreams fading, darkness falling on an old skipping record.
This room is off, so empty and cold.
The ocean’s surface, beautiful and blue. Darkness waiting below.
An eclipse in the sky, stars shining, uncovered by the darkness.

Pain an enigma, hurting us so much but yet we can’t live without it.
Truth uncovered, we beg for that knowledge, but now beg to forget.
Blood, a crimson image dripping from my mind and down my cheek.
A turtle hides in his shell, not wanting to face what’s before him.

An automaton in the dark, seen as nothing but a mindless hollow shell.
We stare at the stars as they stare back.
They view the earth and wonder why we let darkness overtake us.
They shine brightly throughout time, no care in the world.

Salt in the wound, spitting on the grave what you love the most.
Minds, a labyrinth with no center, a door that does not open.
Falling into the abyss with no hope of climbing out.

My conscience lays on the floor, unwilling to return.
I killed it when I was born.
Pushed it out the window then blamed it for not coming back.

Every house the same down the block.
Every family the same in every house, everything joyous and bright.
Every day the same for every family, a world predecided.

A burning us in the sky, representing our hatred for what we don’t understand.
A dark baren moon, representing our care for what we love.
Why do we dwell the most on what we like the least.

Cataclysmic is reality, a tragedy always unfolding.
Decrepit house breaking down in the streets, abandoned for the longest time.
A worm on the sidewalk, hoping it won’t dry out.

Life, a nightmare from which you can’t wake.
Time ticks by without any remorse for the pain it caused.
The moon rises from its grave, ending the suns reign.
Darkness descends and we hide from the pain.
Asleep in our beds, waiting for the next day.