winds softly caress the boughs of trees,

scintillating scents of an almost perfect glory,

lost with the rattle of the leaves.

something sparkles in the distance,

but its beauty is lost,

tarnished or diminished.

the ground opens,

souls rise from a bottomless pit of hypnagogic grey matter, 

to be consumed by the heartless.

pain again.

so much pain, the agony of it writhes.

the lost abandoned,

running aimlessly for nothing,

as the walls close in.

enfolded in a soft embrace,

the silent kind that creeps.