taps.What makes the grass grow?That crimson, forcefully spilled with shards of metallic cold,in a place where the fiery Hell meets with the earth.So the answer goes...Soaking up lost hopes and futures for reasons distorted in shouts of cadence,these blades once green now that sickly scarlet.water. that's the essence that which gives life. would it not be better to water with what gives life rather than with the essence of life itself?
shades.There is no rainbow for me,to pave the way and guidethis tattered, tired soul back.Stumbling over clouds of gray,wandering farther and fartheraway from the warming glow.The darkness surrounds me,taking me into its cold embrace,feeding upon my growing loneliness.My hands, they have lost their touch.My feet no longer carry my steps.There is no resistance. No more fight.Left to the vices of sweet solitude, thevoid pulls me forward (or backward?)toward the end of the beginning.There is no rainbow for me, to leadme back to where this soul yearns to be.The eyes, tainted and corrupted by thelies society fed, they no longer seein colors, but rather shades of gray.The path was always before me, yetmy eyes were too blind to see it, my bodytoo numb to feel its welcoming warmth.There was a rainbow for me.