Bane of Existance

Almost out of time and the plot near thickens
as I sit here screaming my salvation becons
to the most lost of souls which wanders frequently
visiting dune, lake, forest and country
There's nothing left in a void of pity
but the cold charred reminants of a city
a city housing the surreal
the place which contains all that I feel

Stop and think of the distruction caused through pain
and there is nothing of worth left to gain
from a painful existance lived in vain
it is a bane


Of the time, sorrow and joyous solitude which drives
whatever is left in it to thrive
on a wasteland of over processed thoughts
and the realization of all the good it brought
to no one