So it happened.
The dirt arose.
It swallowed us whole.
Its stories were whispered,
Lies were spun
Beautifully, like spider’s silk.
In a lonely house
The real truth lies
Behind yellowed walls
And a blank TV screen
Where the translucent moon
Bleeds dew on the dead grass
And the sunlight does nothing
But fade the furniture.
It started here,
In a reoccurring dream
We stepped over broken mirrors
And under a fractured firmament
And they shone through the narrow, jagged lines,
Small disjointed glimpses of hope.
It was pure.
It rained from a sky of glass
And soaked into our plastic skin.
And we just kept being alone.
I awoke.
The hole was deep.
The air was gray.
And nothing remained
But an infinite lie
And the dirt on my hands.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.05 seconds at 4:01pm on Nov 04, 2024 via server WEBX1.