Broken skies, shattered stars,
Maelstrom of chaos, chaos unbound.
Tiny specks of solace devoured,
By demons who never cared but today.
In the shadows of mourning they flock,
Like Ravens of a bloodied feather bath.
A crushed mirror speckled with red,
is their kaleidoscope of superficial regret.
The sun strides past every morn,
Regardless of your joy or demise.
But the petty moon of liars is more cruel,
Does nothing but reflects the sun’s unconcern.
Yet this crafty changeling, with many faces,
pretends as if it cares.