Death may be sweet...

The hands move across
the face of the clock.
The mechanism ticks, and ticks,
but time does not pass.

People around me have
their whispers, and laughter.
They have all the sounds they make,
but I still hear nothing.

Clouds move in the sky
and stars dance round the moon.
The world spins, and orbits,
but we have gone nowhere.

Skin is cut and blood runs,
turning everything dark red.
Sometimes it heals, and sometimes not,
but the bleeding goes on.

There is the holding and the kissing
between lovers here, and there.
Even the haters need each other,
but they, all, are still so alone.

The air has become poison,
and it's hard to breathe.
There's no more need, at all,
to go out and smell the flowers.

That life we all knew
is gone, like all dreams past.
All our prayers, to all our Gods,
seem to fall on deaf ears now.

Death may be sweet...
for all that was held so dear.
We need new pleasures and tortures,
to replace what dreams may never come.