The White Squall

Of screaming wind and whitened cloud  
What kind of dreaming will I be allowed?  
Of darkest purpose and tenebrous hue  
If they believe that of us, then what shall we do?  
 
A mixture arises from the shades of the storm  
The pallid convince us we shouldn’t be born  
Ironic, is it not? The darkness they urge  
In my eyes, humanity, we all are a scourge  
 
What will be left when we’re finally done?  
I’d give everything I have if only to run.  
The squall has arrived, and they never shall leave.  
Just keep out of my sight so I feel I can breathe.  
 
Your bloodlust, it scares me, just keep it away  
You hate me, likewise, and that is “more than okay.”