THE WORLD

Is a barren desert, a constrictor whose grasp narrows as people drop off and fade away. So many mirages in the distance that mock and disappear some times I lose focus in the fray and just want to pass into the night in a deep sleep. I don't understand the game any more and despise the players that remain. I can laugh or cry or simply be silent and numb. There is music in despair and in misery there is a rhythm, but I cannot make it rhyme just feel the sting of melancholy. It is sad to be alone in a dream of death, but even such dreams die eventually. I will rest for now in the arms of sadness. And wish for a better day.