Dismal Skies (Poetry)

Criminal Quota

Back at this place again,

head hung and face covered.

Distorted thoughts, tailored clothes,

paintings torn, dirty walls and broken things crawl.

Dark seaweed green?

They were never bright to begin with.

A small box, lite this fickle match

and burn, burn the eyesore down.

Beautiful sight before my eyes,

running flames come to visit.

Walking through and the moon blinks,

the window is cracked and scratched as flaming pieces fall.

White hoodie standing in the door frame and blistered hands glitch,

stepping into the darkest blue these flames celebrate.

Snowflakes fall from the sky and hair turns black, glitching into the night

- a silent Goodbye.