Samsara
We cut our teeth on misery and hang our heads with apathy.
We dig our graves in synchrony and then write regrets in diaries.


The cracks form at fingertips. I feel this reeling in every vein.
Spreading through my body is a weight that buckles me.

Marching onwards into the void, hostages.
Blindly following into the void, instruments.

These days feel like old days, not whole days.
Another breath wasted in an existence wasted on us.
This heart feels lesser each day, abandoned.

More bones walking in lines, in rows, in sequence.
Walk the line and suffer.

These days feel like old days, not whole days and I feel myself losing grip of reality,

Each day merges into the last on repeat and I feel like a visitor in this skin.
Bearing witness into the void, a sinner, a shell. There is no place for
dreamers in this town.

A spectator into the void, fading more with every new day.
Just another apparition waiting to dissolve.