They rest, there on a windowsill, wondering on how to act; the pain of the past had brought the constant blues.
Alone at midnight, clueless, their mind an unsolved puzzle.
How they’d love for a figure to awake, maybe they could be alone together.
Droplets of rain drizzled down the cold glass of the window; mist engulfing the atmosphere. Cloud’s tears merged with theirs; they wept together, in a peaceful solitude spent leering resentfully at the ever so vacant roads.
Each parked car: isolated, secluded, in an exemplary position for the foe with savage schemes, feeding from the terrors the night. Seeking their reinforcements in brutal hours.
Amber street lights reflected ominous shadows of the trees with faces, expressions of all sorts: fright, delight, madness and sadness. Perplexing confusion scraped into the tough oak.
Like a jack in the box, leaves sprang up into the wind; surging through loop the loops to an unknown destination. An unknown home, in a village of poverty. That’s where they had lie, in a location ****** to destruction and a law lacking consideration.
An overwhelming, overpowering desire to become real, to be something alive, possessed them as if depression was the new supernatural.
Crookedness humiliated their figure like sniggering hyenas. To perceive a demon of your skin receives you a glorious enlightenment; love is not craved, happiness is not to your taste (but you do not know if you like something until you try it) and the iced wall sealing you from reality cannot be melted.
If life’s an unescapable film, all they could ponder on was the obsession over the idea of this film finally coming to an end.
No one else exists but you.
Crooked the way I’ll remain-
Sit upon the bay in pain
Inescapable prey, death lane
Why wouldn’t you want to stay?
Man I wrote this a **** long time ago and none of it makes any sense ****