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Darkspiration

Shunted light from extricated desires,
Abhoring the ebb of their flow.

Works benefit for none, all is sulfuric
and touching, for lack of burning
crash of timetables rushed.

Found empty and gutted, sounds
are as hollow as the moment they were born.

And when do they stop to ask,
create the death to preserve
customs simple as waving, why?

Jaded forests lost in wonder,
sparkle with veins glorious.

But falling and sorrow are too common,
so they don't stop to catch or cheer,
and when they hit, they hit.

Snap goes dreams, crack goes bone,
pop out the spine and we think of cereal.

Ridding the rutting from discourse
the endtimes and present particles
for years collide senselessly.

Gangrene and pus, degenerate
only what has become a new height.