Withering cries tunnel through a path blocked by a vortex of hateful words. If you try passing it by, You will get swallowed, Spiraling out of control until you land on a patch of loveless dirt. Dirt where every sprouting seed dies before reaching its exit…
Is death the only option? Is there any point in turning back to any place where, Others think of you for a split-second and, Become thoughtless? Such an imprint left on minds lacking a guilty conscious. Even if you happen to slip through the dead soil, You’re the rose either to be stepped on, Or, Plucked to be laid on a grave you belong in…
Nonetheless, None of it matters. We all die alone as reality shatters. Into a dream, Only you can see, While others watch on either crying, Or, In laughter. Moving into the next realm we go into the hands of, Whoever created this universe in the first place…
m3l0dicverse 
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