To the squinting spectator who drank in the despair as I tiptoed off the plane of existence and drifted listlessly through the velvet blackness of oblivion. I am what I always was. Gleaming and empty.
The scent of yesterday.
Rot goes around, rivers once blue gorgeous and animated. Deep, black and quiet, the mirror of contemporary. What you call life completely suffocated in sleep Ruins pile up, broken bones and dead wood. Cracked walls. It is too late to start again.
There is a mist that chokes the land. The waves attack. Relent. The skies attack, They come, relentless.
Out of reach ..collapse into absence. The time to let our minds speak silently in the act of darkening. The past. The future.