Speech falls silent.
The more words that are spilt, the more hopeless it becomes.
The more desperate the need, the stronger the apathy takes hold.
And it spirals out of control,
Descending into some riotous state.

Oblivious to all,
And only horror most severe,
Could bring the senses to reason.

Regret, and despair so great,
Make this body of lead.
Cognition burns my eyes.
The angst pulses, through my veins

Can this malignant realisation be set to forge paths anew?
Or is it just another wound to burn on,
Until all hope is rotting in vain?

Contain. Castigate. Abscond. Descend.

That old faithful
The whispered promise,
Beguiled in doubt.
Transparent intent, bereft of substance.

And it always comes to this.
So let us raise a final glass.
To resentment, hostility
To breakdown,
To end.

Sometimes it seems it can only be difficult.
Odd moments of peace may disguise the impending doom,
But the dissent rages, if not in one then in another.
And all sense of hope is culled.

Searching for utopia, only to find stagnation and disappointment.
The ego bloodied and torn, yet grasping still.
Desperate to find the one reason so great, it might justify this unending time of unrest.

All that you are is a parasite.
A leech that would drain the last drop,
And offer only arrogance and silent indignation in return.
I am done with days skulking in the blindness of false bliss.
Dead is the will to believe.
Crushed is the hope, buried in the blackest seas.

Memories are stark, damaged, bleak.
Aghast with misery,
Destined for failure, future is only the betrayer of hope.
No sustenance on which it could feed.

This vessel lay empty now, rotting in dereliction.
Frozen in time, as the last fragment falls to the earth.
Like some deathly tear.

Instrumental

Hiding stupidity in plain sight,
A sea of clones,
Lead us to the demise of independent thought.
Reaction without questions or diligence, assumption becomes absolute.
Judgement and condemnation on the lips of every hypocrite,
Truth and facts deemed a priori to the cause.

Consuming lies like rats desperate to be fed,
With no regard to the shit they are eating.

Scavenging upon pre-determined content,
To fulfil the target of their own, pre-conceived selves.
The herd mentality gains traction with each passing assimilation
A distraction from reality,
Those empty words upon which everything is said and not done.

Products of a communal conscience that changes with each new fashion,
Bending and morphing in their desperation to become one and the same.

Liberties sold for technological inclusion.
Inviting the shackles to the flesh, for the freedom of mind is already lost.

God is dead, yet there is no drought of the holy.
Self-appointed saints, spouting their ill-conceived rhetoric,
Like moral beacons, casting aspersions with impunity.
Each forgetting that all are but flawed…

Tis nothing if not a cruel world,
Again we endure
A sound that has become all too familiar,
As the music plays, the curtains draw.

In this script of life, the tragedy plays on,
And it arrives with envy, of those still to learn.
Of the questions it brings,
The dawning of nature’s indifference,
We are but ants without purpose.

But this time, it feels different.
One moment in time becomes finite.
An aftermath of horror so hard to bear witness
Which only seconds before, could not be conceived.
Stripped of life,
Crushed and burnt.

It feels unreal, yet nothing is more definite.
A warning to those left behind.

That each second passing by, draws us nearer
No question of if, but when.

Still we move forth,
To journey’s end.

Sick and tired of the daily drudge.
Swallowed within the mires of cynicism,
Chaos has become me.
A constant urgency, tearing through,
Unsettles the nerves,
Time flashes by unnoticed.

Until all stops,
And time crashes to a halt.
Weariness catches me as I emerge from the first real slumber.
Procrastination begins,
And the dark clouds come rolling in.
Claustrophobic, suffocating in this never ending struggle

With this endless weight, tied,
Like an albatross around my neck,
It never relents.
I exist only for the sake of existence.

Paralysed with apathy, the mind filled with dread.
Struggling to raise enough will to move from slumber,
Eyes still red, heavy with poison.

This is not living, but waiting for death.
This is not breathing, but suffocating underneath a glut of despots.
Sentiment is lost in a time that knows only greed.