Self-inflicted Hate and All Else - The Segregated Hell

Under time twisting backward, we made an entrance to the place below humanity where the hell-drowned are buried and the babies never cry. Forsaken with those breaths we once inhaled and allowed to escape - without wondering, without croon, without a single meandering question as to where we may have gone.

In this place, borders are defined but not enforced, and this creates a disarray of all that are still able to walk and hold thought. The grasping hatreds of the men here tear into one another and consume our empathy, what little ever existed in a few, and we feed on screams indicted by the thrashing of claws and the teeth only driven by division. We only see colors of skin and eyes, and never under this blanket of darkness will we allow a stream of light to wander into our prison and reveal what could have been agape with beauty, unity filtered through a prism in the form of every man in every robe of every fabric.

We lie in this mutiny of origin, under the soot, burrowed between reality and cratered fantasy of grandiosity, delusions not dreamt up by our own minds but of those egos before us.

And when the end of time caps what we once thought was eternal, we will halt our insanity in confusion, though never understanding, having lost all desire to reason. We will squint in failed recollection of ourselves only to realize we forgot wholeness - we even forgot our own name.