Ink Smears

The place where the wretched lurk
buried in dens they indwell
watchfully eye each move we make.

lurching through the darknened streets
lined with treacherous two-faced rats
ruining tomorow what we create today.

This city is a tomb of ghosts
crippled and drained of minds
leaving nothing but shadows of doubts.
Such inheritance is innate
Sins are embedded in thoughts
Flaring horizons are to be passed through


a withered place with empty souls
neighboring estate vile as morgue
content too far from being dead
think of what you've done and you're all set.