Pessimism bids good morrow

 I’m in the middle of the loneliest crowd, they cry and sing and speak out loud .I know where they’re going, their destinations are all the same, heading for the one place that has no name. Nowhere, a dessert with a sleepless gate, an entrance to an ending of a pointless game, no winners, no losers we tie all the same. The path we take is the only thing that fluctuates, some curve and meander and some just run straight. The way the crow flies is the easiest way, you can end this game as quickly as you came. For those with names it’s a wonderful game, for those of us who don’t we’re just labeled insane. Only the crazy know the end of this maze, we’ll all be set ablaze in its final phase. It matters not the size of the flame, nor the depth nor heat nor color no one stays. We have to accept what we all await, what we all know as direful fate. The path we all take is not of human made, not rock nor gravel nor mud nor paved. It’s just about time we all stopped waiting, for the chance to be happy while time is fleeting. Never shall it come on the path to the barren, the empty and forgotten, the lifeless and the laden, dug deep into the crevasse of the expansive mire, the only place true happiness is acquired, where sadness and anger together expire. We are the damned, we are the retched, we are the filth and the silt, together we retire, to the ruins no one admires.