Who knew
That when the world was finally coming to an end,
We were the first to go.
We
Who even though are introverts,
Antisocials of the highest order
Were seen as real threats.
We
Who voiced our opinions unabashed,
Who fearlessly tackled the world head-on.
All this, using just words.
Come to think of it,
Poets are the most dangerous of them all.
No wonder they saw us as a threat.

All hope is gone
No hope, no anger, no need for peace, nothing can be ceased
Endless sights of nothingness, antisocials would consider a long bewildered wish
Where have I been?
What have I seen?
So lucid its absolutely impossible to be a dream,
Am I dead? Have I ascended?
Is this good or bad?
How much of this can be comprehended,
If this is "it", then what could it have been?
What do I really fear?
Nevertheless... Im here, Im still here, I'll always be here...