Down in the dumps
Like the shadows upon the ceiling...

Twisted heaps of steaming metal
blood-speckled concrete looking industrially...

Fingernails painted
pink-gold...

Of course I should be happy with my life
Nothing too horrible happens...

Human kind is dying slowly
Dragging mother earth...

The rain fell thick but slowly
As if grief had stolen...

Museums full of art
windows, stained glass...

I pull myself together
Only to tear myself apart...

Twisted treasure
Burning ashes...

Life mocks me:
Life: You don't belong here, in the land of the...

Gray buildings standing heavy
yet elegant, sooty yet resolute in purpose...

Ah, the things one can create
when they're in the manic state...