Empty and floating on endlessly,
the sea of life is a grave that drifts
from vessel to vessel.
It comes; it consumes;
it cedes without surrender -- just abandonment.

It refuses to exist.
Under no circumstance will it exist.
Life is a grave, we are all buried at birth.

The Cemetary Atramentous,
this is the place where all living souls rot
and wallow in their cliches and despairs.
Trivial and inconsequential -- just like life.
The stench colors the sky blacker than the name implies.

Numerous coffins simultaneously and instaneously lowered.
Lowered as each occupant draws its first breath,
the first breath of a world filled with useless hatred.
What is the purpose of birth but to fill a casket?
Sometimes a nonexistant god plays the funniest jokes.

Every gravestone a possibility that is and is not.
Each persona a diamond in the rough under the hammer,
the anxious and nervous wait to destruction.


The only inhabitant is forlorn fear.
The final breath we all take before stepping into the castle within.