catch leaves
as they
blow ghostly
down the
decaying drive.
count insects
dying in
spun webs
across the
fence of
the asylum.
look for
circles branded
on souls
of the
feet from
holy shoes.
ignore the
papers on
posts sharing
false news.
distain the
blood on
the boulevard,
last slice
of life,
all under
a sickly,
orange moon.
scream confessions
into the
dark void
of oblivion.
nobody listens.