Death of Seasons


Of late it's harder just to go outside,
to leave this deadspace with hatred so alive.
Writhing with sickness, thrown into banality,
I decay.
Killed by the weakness, but forced to return.
Turn it off.
I watch the stars as they fall from the sky.
I held a fallen star and it wept for me,
I feel the fallen stars encircle me now,
as they cry.
Out there so quickly grows malignant tribes.
Posthuman extinction excels unrecognized.
Feeling surrounded, so bored with mortality,
I decay.
All of this hatred is fucking real.
Turn it on.
It won't be all right despite what they say.
Just watch the stars tonight as they disappear,
And I disintegrate
?cause this hate is fucking real.
And I hope to shade the world as stars go out
and I disintegrate.

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