the sky is an open wound
festering with poison fumes
they rise up in pillars of black
color the clouds in grey plumes
everything once alive
has withered and given up
the angels once proud
are sleeping in the muck
night is the final nail
in the coffin of humanity
exhumed, inhuman
it covers the sun
and in the darkness in the doom
the dreamers dream with eyes open
waiting for the stars
that have given up on us, too.
---
it's that kind of day, month, year.
No comments:
Post a Comment