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Worldly ways wallowing

In insufferable incineration, inseminating

The tainted transgression to

Cold calloused condemnations.

Harkening hallowed havens

In invigorating intonations, insinuating

Nihilistic notions notwithstanding

Growing guided grief.

Hours halt

Ominously, only

Undisturbed unending

Ruins rot.

Waking to the sound of parasites crawling,

I glance left and right for a light glowing softly.

The window pane is stained and worn,

Cold wind is knocking softly at my door

Heralding the coming hour of darkness and fleshed tears.

If only it were but a dream. I find only nightmares.

Never obtaining a justification for it all.

Guided only by flickers of light and painted dolls.

How can we stand to go on to dust,

Our own creations are reeling upon us.

Unending life seems to me so sour,

Reminiscing upon the hour.