Clouds,
Descend from your shackles...
As the day feels like gloom has found its crown...
...
The sun,
Nowhere to be found,
Like fountains with no water,
Where is your oasis?
...
The wind,
We are surrounded by you,
We can't save our troops for your touch
...
Cold,
Yet sticky...
The streets are in my vision...
Clouded they are...
Shrouded by lost memories...
...
Where is your apocalypse?
I longed for a day where solitude grabs my shirt and whispers...
"The immortal would like to meet you."