Things, they fall apart.
From dust to dust, they say.
The screeching star will supernova;
light will burn away.
Stand sheeplike with your mother,
for she must be your bow.
A rumble rolls behind you,
the sky a shadow cloud.
What creeps and sweeps the skin
from off your wilting ribs
is hollow like a tidal wave,
some stuffing in a crib.
The feeling dry and sucking
the marrow from your book.
This is the new world order, kid.
Don’t be afraid to look.
An amulet of darkness,
a scarab cracked with white,
its glassy surface bubbles now,
and the end is nigh.
Written by AnonymousÂ
