Suburban Decay

Staring into an abyss of self torment.

A chaotic spin of things unsaid.

I wonder.

Will a hand once held so dearly,

ever be held again?

Swirling cynicism consumes me.

Shall I kill what is left?

If eternal optimism is but a candle.

All it would require of me;

One sweet kiss,

through burning lips,

to die a nihilist.

-Rob Padfield