Each day is just a

Location

Each day is just a gift,

That's why we call it present,

That's why each day we smile,

And think things are so pleasant.
 

But deep beneath the surface,

Lies all the living secrets,

The dark monstrocities,

The everlasting Regrets.

 

Now Grimy and Disgusting,

Live our darkest hours,

Deep beneath the surface,

Built with cities and large towers.

 

Rats are running rampant,

Throughout the city Sewers,

And there you see those shadows,

We call those men the movers.

 

They come to recollect,

All the things that we forgot,

But do not stand withing their path,

For I know they will not stop.

 

They have large hands and strange attire,

Their eyes as black as coal,

They make no sound, No sound at all,

I see they have no soul.

 

They move with eery grace,

As if floating on the sea,

And with astounding silence,

They flash a glance at me.

 

And with that flash I saw the past,

The flew before my eyes,

I always wondered what would happen,

At my sad demise.

 

And so they move with elegance,

the wind is blowing right,

Alas they're moving closer,

Through the dreariness of night.

 

For now they moved so steadily,

Towards my standing place,

I knew they meant to take me too,

For now they quickened pace.

 

My feet kicked up a spat of dust,

That mixed with milky fog,

I know that I will die tonight,

For my lungs are filled with smog.

 

My legs are tore, My feet are shot,

I can't go on much longer,

I'm staring death upon his face,

How I wish that I was stronger.

 

I round a corner stopping quick,

Breathing Frantically,

My breath is short, my eyes are wide,

What's gotten into me?

 

I feel the wind rush through my hair,

And time is ticking slow,

I hear a roar from right behind,

A note so loud and low.

 

My feet decieve my aching legs,

A sudden tumble down,

And with no noise, no noise at all,

My face collides with ground.

 

As my consciousness returns to me,

I gaze upon my chest,

I see the blood that gushes out,

A stake is through my breast.

 

And with the dying breaths I take,

I look upon the skies,

I find myself in agony,

beneath the soulless eyes.

 

I feel the cold that fills my sould,

There is no turning back,

and just like those that stared me down,

My eyes are turning black.

Sarah~

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741