It is dying. The solar planet has done it's part in cloaking the surreal intent of Earth.
Is it even defined as Earth anymore?
There is no truth in having Earth being a waltzing nightmare in the reflected light of the opaque meteor in the stars, it follows this world the same as before but the meaning of it is not.
The round door of the flaming oven is deliberately locking away the heat in the rotation of the planet. I bid farewell to the fading warmth, hoping it will come again the next day.
Creeping shadows grow over streets of decay like the green that has grown over the mess made by once considered intelligent life forms.
The majority residents of this nature are children made by a mystery that overthrew the civilization of old into its own reign.
They were brilliant but weak, wandering these battered streets with torn masks of humanity. The masks are not enough to hide the emitting cadaverine, but all that dwell here can be carbon.
The question of what is the same, for fate to decide. Compare the weak to the last of us, witnesses and testifiers of the mystery. I am a last one, barely holding on.
Why I struggle to hold on? If you ask, it is for the result of the setting sun.
A monster, vile, living, it breaths among the last ones, barbaric to the weak, authority over the living, killer of men. It shall not fear, it shall not die, it ends all.
Must a creature of this time deserve to have a finale? It cannot be loose the same. This abnormal being contained in hospitality of companionship, old emotions forgotten from the change.
The mind aches in the thought of it. Spacious white light from this cold sun shades the streets lightly. The howls of the night reign without giving the source of the disturbance.
Sprawling bodies sweep around the block, these spiders in the shadows, but weak the same. All are weak in some region, mine is dead.
The wondrous eyes that used to look upon this beast was lost to the weak, never gaining the chance. I swore an oath upon those eyes, becoming the keystone to my survival.
I will live and never die, nothing will prevail. Sensations of blood reaches the heart, the eyes on my face morphs in adjustment.
Like unto the dying light and like the beautiful eyes that lost its soul, raw colors of moss envelopes the dark amber pupil. The monster has come again, so I am still here.