StatuesMature

Hopeless, beautiful, lost,

Waiting to be found,

Smoke and mist form haze and veil,

The bits of my heart and soul,

That still had potential to shine,

Glittering silver in the grey-rays,

Of the dying sun,

In a sky, a dawn sky,

The colour of cold ashes,

As if a higher hell's fire was put out,

Grey-pink lips and ice-blue eyes,

Skin of ice and claws of frost,

Wings of silver, hearts of stone,

Unmarked graves, we die alone,

The years accumulate like dust,

On the surfaces of frozen, glass-ice statues,

We are those statues,

Never moving, never feeling,

Our veins are dry, are tears are frozen,

Emotion dead as this world,

Kill me please, you can end this,

Long drawn out numbness,

The numbness so medicated,

Builds to what will be a crescendo of pain,

A silent apocalypse,

Falls freezing the air, sound muted like the effects of snow,

On an otherwise modernised and polluted world,

Where suicides aren't even recorded anymore,

Because everyone is just a number,

So we lower that number,

Through slow, painful, freezing torture,

Turning us to statues as our frozen hearts,

And iced-over souls,

Begin to thaw,

And rot...

The End

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