The repetition, the incessant noise
That by which I am consumed
A pattern of destruction
All it would seem is doomed

It waits like an accursed vulture
Sitting, salivating upon the steps
The devourer of hope and the future
Utterly meaningless, grotesque

The papers all blow away
Written notes I never did send
I was whole in the morning
Yet now nothing in the end

The wretched thoughts
Clinging to me as if they would suffocate
The abominable reality
A world to which I cannot relate

Such is the loneliest day
Months that become years
Transfixed by the horrors before me
Lost to the endless fears