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draw your dark world,
ink your icon illusion.
a hunt for value hurled;
depicting every delusion.
you turn to find noone here.
no sadist to bring you to life;
with earth eating at my ear.
this feelings becoming rife.
walk, talk to the trees.
hello, how do you do?
silence. it gets no ease;
no such expectation too.
supplying your own reply.
the hollowness in my eyes;
no homo sapien that I rely.
no greetings, no goodbyes.
canvas torture, yet to come,
I’ll make my own people run;
this person that I’ve become.
my talking trees block the sun.
this empty road, it cannot hold,
with existance far away, its sole.
wrapping round the spinal cold;
truth, youth - buried in a hole.
;[signed]
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