Landscapes

The devil slithers through the small
Tearing through the seams of detail
Forever lurking just outside of sight
The bodies are stacked to the ceiling
Every skeleton threatening to fall out
With the closets full the secrets burst
The demons seep into the transmitter
Broadcasting words that destroy me
Struggle to stand, plug my ears
The words I’ve heard for thousands of years
Maybe it’s days, it’s hard to discern
Fallen. Hard. Every day is the same.

The red haze blurs the horizon
Maybe it’s the darkness choking the day
The blood off our hands pours over the land.
Killing fields.
Machines grind our bones.
The demons wind the cogs
The devil looks on
Where the life filled the void
The death now resides
The moon fell into the sea and bled on the land.
The poisoned streams flow to the heart.

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