tonight the city sleeps in desperation and

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.