My head is all muddled up with fears from the past.
Screams that in silence burn.
Hold steadfast to dreams
You, its creator
Days of no sleep seem monochrome and tasteless. An aftertaste that refuses to go away. A somber resignation.
A pulverizing sadness, A madness that spreads, A plastic smile.
The failure that preaches to the empty and soulless. The torn and the poor, The rags from above.