A star upon a darkened sky
screams out against a lie;
a lie that fills us with hate,
but is it already too late?
Black is the colour of the heart
when love is no longer a part
of the endless emotions within,
and so we fester in our own skin.
We rot from the inside out,
and yet we remain so devout
to the ways of life we know,
as all the while the hated grows.
Like a black seed imbeded in us,
or like a wound filled with pus,
it slowly eats away at our soul
until it takes the final toll.
A pain so deep we cannot tell
makes us writhe in living hell,
as black-winged cherubim
stare down on us, so grim.
We lose our minds and sanity,
we lose ourself to the agony
that twists our hopes and dreams,
leaving room for naught but screams.