So it is lust reached forth from vanity that embroils us in fiery pillars of cherry-red calamity.
As to take by force at cost of hopeless agony.
The desperate death that can not be achieved is veiled upon us in putrid irony.
Now the nights rustle with tombstone drifts amongst naked trees.
Ashen skies cloak the day with spent embers of burning humanity.
Laughter being the siren of madness; as it once was in joy, is not even a memory.
Heaps of corpses like grey sands at a wandering edge of the blackest sea.
Half melted faces from thrown sabers intercontinentally.
Not even tears to drip from the sunken from eyes of starvation nor screams, for it is but groaning of a remnant, without hope of life, that for death do plea.
[submitted by coldicehotwater]
The End continues with a bitter end, taking no prisoners, offering no quarter. Could this be the true end, the dead end? We’ll have to wait and see.