she dreams of seeing rebirth and beauty
(her only real last wish before the
foundation that created it all falls to
the corruption of a million static voices,
screaming there's no profit in the forsaken).
is it really that dark, so dark
as to make them blind? they can't see past their
own green eyes.
i see what's missing around every corner and
even i know how to make it whole.
today the city whispers that she needs some
time and a little patience.
she needs someone to care enough to quiet
every siren that accompanies a slain soul -
destroyed in perversion or by it.
and i'm no martyr, most say.
i will not put myself
on the line for you or anyone else even
if it meant i could produce a change in
what makes me generalize every poor soul
stuck in a purgatory you did not warrant.
anyone that wants change must feel alone.
i've heard people laugh at my ideals when
i've stressed they're only ideals
(and sadly know their futility all too well).
but it's people like them that keep me on the ground.
at twilight the city sighs.
the sun is remnants of gold but
the sky is pink and a cross shade of blue.
she is ready to sleep and pray that
she never wakes up again.
someone please destroy me.