A cold quest from a fable that knew no moral,
And no one could understand the nature of embarkment,
To begin with.
This desert was well equipped with the dismal dusts of
Desolation, as well as apt in full with a barren hidden
Agenda.
Something shrieked a shrill-shivering scream
But twas the cry of the cracking in my own head
Which had ushered an alarming response.
Furthermore the clouds were dying
At a slow and prolonged pace-
Allowing their thinning whisps to shrivel
Into shrunken heaps of condensed natural failure.
I held no judgment close to me.
For what was taking event before me had no
Means of apprehension-
And I spread myself across those open miles,
To feel this world pass through me
In piercing sheets of dull pain.
Then I was rusted,
And with the ever-dying atmosphere
Of what was once called by beauty,
I dissolved.
There, with the black hunger
Of despair, I gave myself away.
The world had succumbed me in
Grayscale and intentions
Spewing blackness thick and sticky,
Hot and metallic like the calm of blood.
Nothing offered resource for hope,
And the only chance I had
For anything different
Was denied.