Wickedness In The Sickness – Unhinged Poem

I was lost in the end times,

while the whole world rebutted the truth,

we suggested the cure,

we refused to endure,

we flourished,

and then we expunged ourselves from the lands,

green pastures returned,

while we hid indoors,

while we hid from ourselves and the world we had built,

a plague of our own hand,

a bubble of sickness,

wickedness preserved,

we created our end,

we suffered to maintain distance,

we die by our own hand,

breath in,

breath out,

spread the ending about..