Ruin
"There is ruin here-, starts the poet, " upon the stage of life there is something festering beneath"- Pause. Let's start this off properly mutters the emptiness. My name is nothing, I am made of silver dreams and the tears shed by your mother, and you dear poet have no talent. "I disagree, chimes a hidden silhouette, -somethings aren't objective such as poetry and misery and love and music, at least good music. So let the poor thing continue". Thank you, as I was saying, there is ruin here, a place where dreams come to die and nothing wears them out of spite. I give life to feelings unknown, I name unseen things, unheard things. I am a poet and I say there is ruin here. The stench of antiseptic is thick in the air. She must've tried again unsuccessfully. We are at the hospital so keep up, there is no need for you to loiter around so uselessly, we don't have time. We must get to her first. We must! Let us hear it then says nothing. The si...