The soil hides guiltly red,

The trees green, in envy of those who will never exist.

A final precipice at the point where consciousness breaks the sound barrier,

Atmospheric hatred,

The alien siren that leads us to disarray.

Wiping up the slime of another disaffected soldier my baby finaly weeps.

Motionless and dull,

Pitifully deranged watching cannibals eat from Summers corpse.

To be what I've been.

To actively know what I've done,

Certain rainbows will never land Mr UNcertainty,

Those that do will be moisturized,

Those that dont will be near misses,

From a future scowling at any hint of happiness.