Too much to say, not enough said

It hates, it scars,
unpainted buildings
as we limp to an archontic world.

The pain,
of the ancients
buried under
dust and lies,
just futilely crying
out to be known.

We've grown detached
from ourselves,
just rotten smells
smelt with plastic noses.

Blood splatters
like matter
from the squeeze
of the trigger,
day by day
our reflection
fades in the mirror.

We've created
this hatred,
standing divided
over colour,
and love,
so hard
to grasp
when we kill one another.