You look up

You look up.
There is an inky expanse, great tendrils of illuminated chains, mingled with a purple hue all working together to box the limitations we have grown blind too. You are subjected to a fate of whatever they wish it to be, so what do (you) want?
Ask yourself this as you admire the murder amongst a great nothing, struggling through an ocean of oil, with the literal weight of the world blessing them as it melts, melts among them, on them, yet they manage (barely) onwards, despite being drenched in both our lifeline and our potential doom, a concoction of us.
Maybe they are us, simple clocks.
But amongst the attacking sky sits a gem, now revealed, one you always knew was there, however never believed in.
You see, antecedent is an understatement. The dirt had reached capacity days ago, and the worms now swim, (gills and all,) admiring the pretty fish in the sky, admiring how little there is. For in these times the world is flipped, death is meaningless, life less so, and on the mention of death who do you imagine? For they watch on, over the world, pity your mind as you lay in bed thinking off her, the rough sketches of her photos all over the floor, five walls and ceiling. You are trapped in that room, while magic happens, trapped in there without a key, yet you continue teasing yourself with it, the thing to open the door and introduce you once more to those among the fish.
And once the worms are dead, ground a soupy trapdoor into an eventual, unavoidable fate, a hand will appear from within the dirt. A hand matched to a face with a beaten down look, starred eyes, mouth eased into a whimper, and a smile, a wide forced smile hung like a necklace. Bleeding. But beneath her beautiful feature a secret cowers only the weather/drugs may reveal. Beneath the Tainted clothing she had worn all her life sits a terrified calf, whose eyes aren't quite so starred, and a scream permanently forced on its lips, one nether to be let out.
But step on the dirt, feel it crunch, feel it slosh. Its all the same, so walk, don't run. Walk to the other end of the room, hear the applause and ooh's, stagger over counterpart children. Forget them, if they are really that thirsty, then let the sky melt. If it doesn't then we finally have an answer to a long-awaited question, a question you will eventually figure out, willing or not. When this happens, when the stars offer to take you away, you will lay down in the ground, offer sanctuary to the makeshift ground marine life, and look forward with starry eyes full off happiness and regret.
To ask what this means is saddening, for there is no real answer. What is for sure is its an individual, its you. So, struggle on, it won't get easier, you will just grow numb. Keep the clock powered, let the ticking purr and you'll be fine, resist your fate of woe and the blue men will come. Tick Tock Tick Tock.
To keep the fish happy however,
"
Against the great black sky, 5 sullen crows venture through the rain, rain which hammers the dirt, mixing it around in a concoction of pained worms and forgotten substances. The rain had been this harsh for days now, terrorising the landscape with thoughts of the bible. For some, however, the terror lies elsewhere. For outside the cottage on Tack lane, beneath fairly fresh earth led a woman, neck slit, eyes open, lights on, no one home. She was happy. He took everything from her."
Etc. Etc.
Starry eyes look forward, strained from a life of repetition and outdated methods of living. By the end those eyes, your eyes will be shutting, and then starry.
So, let the rain fall.