hope
is
a feather
in
a pile
of used
hypodermic
needles

love
is
an unanswered prayer
littering
the
trash bin
of
purgatory

the sky was the blue of sadness painted above him with uncertain hands, the sun a marble of remorse reflected off the dirty windows of the closed strip club across the street, the clouds were wispy daydreams of utter doom floating ever closer to oblivion, he watched and wept as the emptiness filled all the things he cherished and crashed soundlessly into him