Silent, solemn whispers,
Eerie, little ghosts,
Wisps of dying prayers,
Clinging to my throat.
Lying on the sidewalk,
Weaving through the blaze,
Calling to the strangers,
Forgetting petty names.
Grasping at the voices,
Clawing at the light,
Hugging deathly shadows,
Slowly going blind.
Blowing through the rumours,
Sleeping in the ash,
Falling down the secrets,
Living in the past...

And if I were to die now,
What would define me,
But my youthful years,
And nights spent in solitude...

We grow attached to our pain,
Accustomed to our cages,
Minds of dark static,
Corrupted ephemeral ersatz.
Hating the sound of our voices,
How they betray our madness,
The image of muffled screams,
The erratic jeopardy of our thoughts.
How we fall,
Look at us
As we Sway,
Look at us.
Dont ask us why,
Because we dont know,
Dont ask us why,
Dont ask us why,
Dont ask us why,
Dont ask us why,
Dont ask us why.

Reading poetry doesn't fill voids
We sit still in fear of falling
Dwelling in the dark
A shallow attempt at masochism
When blood doesnt suffice

In the end,
Only the little bird stands,
Alone,
Amidst the carnage.
The little bird,
Who flew away,
Away from the blood,
Away from the hate.
Now he stands,
Amongst the ruin,
Amongst the dead.
Hear his song,
For in the end,
Only the little bird stands.