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Morning turned to grey

In the long run, it's all the same

what is worth the living

not known to me at all.

Rapid eye movement

the whirlwind of existence

it's near me - untouchable

I see you but can't feel.

Dug this grave through years

isolation is a cure; I was told about

the pains of death but learned

about its hangman.

It resounds, a hollow tune,

creeping in from every window

filling up my every word,

shutting down my every hope.

A swarm of lives denying their failure

a pressure no-one could endure.

I hade no choice but to be dead

since the day that I was born.

There is no end to this

death is just the ground we walk

ran out of gods and dreams to save

our morning turned to grey.