Hysterically hissing and cluttering our minds,
The dying beauty, once lively, now wheezes,
Forgetting the feeling of relief and desiring to sigh,
Frowning at the ruins as the smoke fills her lungs.
She recalls the heavenly memories,
She refuses to bury them, holding each in her circle,
Her once blue and green turn to grey.
She represents their mistakes, hoping they are acknowledged,
But time is precious and short.
Her liveliness altered to gloominess,
“What else will they disregard?”, she wonders.
Hysterical hissing, hysterically hissing,
She hopes to clutter our minds,
And make us realize the damage we have done.
The night approaches, and what else can we do
But spit routine jab over barricades of lopsided stoop
As orchestral bottles shatter, as neon ziggurats paint ink sky
As our foaming mouths gawk over dreams unbroken,
As we, for a moment, believe that we shall never die