Red, screaming flames Blaze my once-mild home into nothingness. The trees, as tall as buildings, The quiet, blameless green grass flowing its spikes across the dirt Crisping to pieces With heavy, silver smoke leaping above As a symbol of their death. The scene, Is reflected in my violent, blue, teardrop eyes The eyes that were once innocent, The eyes that once had potential. But no. My world's sky was darkened, gray clouds thicker than my layer of immoral thought I look down at myself. I am in the midst of the fire. I am a dead log, feeding the flames. Above all, I am the being that silenced the birds, starting the game of destruction. Leaves of resentment fall off of the crackling trees above, fueling the sweltering slaughter of a simple world. Why can't I stop it? The pain, brutality, immorality Gaze down above me With a tenacious motif to prevent the waves of goodness From washing upon me, killing the flames of malice they direct.