A tired moonless night, drowsy sunless days,
to be awakened from their anti-slumber, eternal midnight,
we hope, we pray, and pray.
The darkness never lifts, and the babes bred from it grow weary
Accept eternal induced comas of conciousness, insomnia-
because we do not sleep.
Life has become the twighlight delusions we live between.
Though even the most mighty forces meet it’s end,
so in that, unlasting does not seem as bitter-
there are no losers here, there will be no winners.
Although now I only know your traitor,
time only passes and love only grows.
Be it a hazy, disorienting realm of blossoming lights
The dream world slipping away beneath drowsy eyes, tired goodbyes
seemingly futile promises, ones that speak of again.
But there is comfort, pacing bleached wooden floors
sink agaisnt the door.
If we are truly isolated in our suffering, then at least a physical presence holds true.
Remember us perfectly, through an eye of the once-loved.
When the tide is low, you may come out and seek.
There’s no cure.
If not for the world, for ourselves.
If infected by the self-pitying, mortal angst-
living embodiments of humanity’s wretched longing.
Then we are the disease.