some people laugh in the faces of the dead, their demeanor feeble
a wretched dog in the grey of their days, numbered, one, two, three, four
how many more before their eyes shroud in the distant light?
their bones crumble and their teeth fall out, pieces and pieces of cadaver.
would you kill your soul to see them go? your soul was dead to begin with.
some time in the absence of the light the boots of men—brave! brave! brave!
like thunder clap against the empty universe, drowning inside the brainless curse.
if i had a penny for every time i fell down died, i’d be giggling too
too nervous to see it to the end, their graves marked by the devastating edge.
their emotions convulse over the empire, too many dead to see the ocean
colorless so be it.
colors must die when a good man drowns in war.