The dark loop
Broken windows, dusty roof,
The house is showing its roots.
A comfortable residence for insects,
Leaving us living in a harsh place.
Walls embellished with perfect cobwebs,
Supported with the often appearing cracks.
The water drops falling harmoniously,
Not soothing,
But painful.
Blackness surrounding us shows the upper world,
Covered in varying colours.
The mattress flaunting its sharp tentacles,
Points at the floor,
Where we are pushed.
The light of the blazing sun,
Cries silently,
Unable to provide us with the needed warmth.
The insects, buzzing,
Shows the sects,
Laughs at us,
Shows the filth.
A gruesome reality we face and face,
But never have quite seen the end of its pace.
The ignored and overlooked veracity of our conditionsSometimes, takes our life;
Sometimes, turns us into a living corpse.
The bleeding wounds are perceived asThe hue of art- used and dried.
Endeavours told, then are blown away,
The fire lasting until the foolish food is cooked.
Often like leaves, we splutter,
Misled into every direction.