The current status of the area I call home is falling.
It's a never-ending torture.
The pain, the suffering, the horror of it all.
It's a shame, for those who lost their lives.
Death may happen every day.
But it's all the same old game.
We all start to care less.
And soon, not care at all.
It's a world of despair, no one may notice.
But when their time comes, they may consider.
It seems that I am the one failing.
Doing nothing at all.
As I type, I slowly die.
The city's going straight to hell.
No direction or place to go.
If we all happen to die
there will peace in other places.
In this world, love is now a lie.
But long, long ago,
it had a meaning.
Quietly typing in my own demise,
torture and pain will never stop.
Here, lying in hell
Where the innocent are always guilty.
Everything's a lie.
It surely will not end,
the morning of us all.
Cry, suffer die.
The occupation of many.
Shoot, stab, kill.
The job of some.
But wait, these aren't just jobs,
for they are everyday activities.
It appears the is no world,
for there is only heavan and hell.
The flaming pits of hell is now our world.
The world no longer exsists,
the devil roams.
He is behind us, below us, and even within us.
He is our family, our friends, the world.
And everyday he posseses our minds.
Who can you trust,
if I may ask,
in a cruel place, a.k.a. Earth.
And what is sanctuary,
when you'll get killed anyway?
There no longer is a word such as safe...