The most truthful

A malice in the air, a black smoke that corrupts the perfect innocence of the Earth. A grey path among the purity of the rain clouds, destroying, uncaring inhuman beings that desecrate our ways to the illness, creating the sickness and then removing the rebellion of the youth. Our skins are contamination of this prison of murderess meat and forged from wind of corruption. Our words are the pollution sent to the atmosphere but we can't write more than love letters, stricken by falsity and evil. Our ways are toxic, is there a tomorrow to end it?
We construct romances from nights of sex and conversations filled with eroticism. It's obvious that it always comes naturally. We're so superficial that we deny the most truth in the carnal desire. And then the charades of waterfalls take over and the mind games make a new couple full of sin. Re-fill the glass with wine, let us celebrate the death of another wave. As if the lack of touch combines with the need of some comfort, we generate the empty shells in our heart. Bodies built from the basics of rock, the basis of emptiness. Compelled to give up, a saint becomes a ghost of it's former self, not belonging, erased from the humanity's core. And so we continue to an uncertain lie that we call "salvation", in the supposed "future".
Deflowered at the solstice of our life, the river struggles to maintain it's course and stream. Towards the nothing, the desire to live is delivered to the clouds above and then passed to the trees as they fall in all their grace and splendour. Possession died in the hands of humans where blood has run dry and only toxic skin composes the melody of destruction. Ending another cicle of futility, we hang our souls in a closet of treason and darkness, by the clichés of words. To the worms, we feed them with past happiness and pieces of joy. To the crows, we can give nothing more for nothing more lives inside us. An empty ending, long awaited.

Awaiting your end, may I go with you?