In to the night of starry skies and the figures of ancient kind, what have I seen? What am I seeing?
A sky vomiting the moon, darkness eternal spreads across the land and the clocks resting on the tables, alarm clocks go deaf, nearing, closing, the toll of death.
TV screens flicker, no more PlayStation, a black hole appears sucking life in to the screen, sucking baseball fields, an unfriendly dream. The era of materialistic doom has come and is dancing upon our graves.
The fall of Internet, the rise of devices, suicides, hung by the cable that connected the world. Shatter proof glasses no longer bear the burden, they are breaking, machine made teenagers in making.
Earth, now a factory supplying mechanical brains while the sentiments fall deep in to vain. The rise of rebels, but their limbs were amputated, by the machines you call home, by the machines you call your own.
The concrete society connected by cables and when the wifi is disabled, they all die in pain, the pain of the unknown.
Real world, the old world, lost to itself, now rooted with machines, a mechanical story of blood and machine lubricant ensues.
The end of our time, the face of the crime.
Humanity, evolved and then de-evolved.
What have we achieved apart from burning bodies and mourning souls?
What will become of me, become of you, become of us?
There is no hope, despair reigns.
I don’t want to know how the economy works, I don’t want to walk the steps to a successful business.
I just want to see the forest grow and cry when the rain pours down.
I want this concrete society to be earth again, land again, mud again.
I crave to wipe the face of machines of this land that hold us slaves, I crave to bring the dead back to life.
The sun, a wild spectator, day by day witnessing the horrors of the natural.
Weeping lands, the rivers can no longer be pure, we are impure by the grace of humanity.
What woeful dream had come to someone in which he designed human?
I am appalled by my existence and I only hope this ends soon, that we end soon.
A murderous sky, intent black surrounding the passer by.
The atmosphere reclines, infinite wounds inflicted on this earth.
Why the fuck are we alive?
We can’t even save our home? we are ebbing.
Why have the forests fled deep instead of staying out, because they are tired of bleeding, tired of being cut down.
One by one, the trees fall, and with the night, a nocturnal sight, the forests weep in chorus for the loss of their elder.
Who is responsible when the forests are burned down? The flames unrecorded, un recovered, set by a matchstick from hell.
No! I can’t watch this sight. I want to close my eyes.
No! This can’t be real, do all the oceans fear the red tide?
Millions of creatures washed on the shore, the red tide has triumphed and made nature it’s whore.
Why won’t we stop this horror?
Why are we killing what makes us and what keeps us alive?
One night, the world will fled when the forest is dead. Who will save us then?