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A longing sense.
To fulfil my days of empty slumber.
The remnants of life.
Like ashes, scattered across the ground.
It all seems worthless.

From the window pane.
I gaze upon the autumn tress.
Raining leaves and gnarling mists.
Like my very essence, grey.
Travelling through nothingness.

My life is fucking empty.
To exist in fragile light.

Silence.
Cold.
Alone.

Death, with no redemption.
We're all heading towards the end.
It is with us, from the dawn.
The dawn of our miserable lives.

We all live in a delusion.
As life holds nothing but death.

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