Char

No more tears
for the wicked
know not
how to cry.
Their faces
wrapped in
mischief, taunt
and glare.
While their
souls weep
inside as they
are crushed.
Washed down
with a bottle
or two.
We cease
to exist as
humans.
Finally beasts
take over and
all is ecstasy and
short-lived bliss.
Eaten by guilt
afterwards.
Drowned
in flames.
Gone.

char, 2023

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