Mad World

A subdued hush
As glassy, empty eyes
Reflect not life, but the crumbling
Sky above, tattered and streaked
With charcoaled greens and 
Thick, wet scarlet hues. 
A suppressive stillness
As contorted, mangled bodies
Heap among the dying meadows,
The fading tiles, the cold stoned floor
Littered with sickness, despair
And a darkening, evil muse. 

An earsplitting cry
As disheveled, limping figures
Crawl, slide, claw over the slick
And oily ground,
Grasp familiar faces with horror,
With a loud and deafening lament. 
An earth shattering anguish
As their awful wails crowd
The bleeding night sky
And familiar places now tainted
With daunting, chilling memories,
Allowing ashy grief to ferment. 

An unsettling presence
As dry, sorrowful tears cake
Onto void expressions
And dreams of dying fill
Their drowning souls,
Locking the iron gate hearts closed. 
A stateless wandering
As they refuse the agonizing,
Horrific truth,
Going nowhere, their
Woes overflowing drunken glasses,
Existing in a mad, senseless world.