Human

it is the last corridor loneliest hours are like this twisted music stops ringing from the belfry silence that could break bones with its weight comes in a downpour thunderous words of a confession spoken in actions speak for your own sins one by one, on a table covered in dust lay them to untimely rest this place will be your funeral, rebirth rising the hell from whence you came, demons grabbing at your ankles until they drag you back home. you carved their sentences in grey red spilling into dirty snow, dirty conscience, destruction of everything in your path to glory, friend and foe breathing in the blood-curdling screams like the fresh air you don’t deserve the prayers of a people wasted in the merciless hands of a child sick, buttercups in their hair an angel of death, murderer savior falling through the cracks of everything they were a time ago. it is the end.