our shared childhood burns to crisp as we pray to see another day
the screams of agony echo through the firey hallway
grim as it is, we all stood unsuprised
as if doom itself was expected to visit sometime soon
a fickle world, aware of its fate
masking the fear with a forced smile
were we always this tolerant of horror?
dancing amongst the smell of metal, engulfed by terror
HELL ON EARTH, hell on our palms
glamour whilst the world go up in flames
looking the other way, no time for games
therefore we stared doom down
twirling in the air, forever more, dancing the night away
2024.1.24
YOU ARE READING
A Bed Made of Spiders
No Ficciónpoems and pondered thoughts about my self-made agonizing world
