Ruptured

His background noise
Boomed louder and louder,

Skies bled and winds screamed,
The swaying trees deafened,

His sense was washed
Away with the rain,

And his sanity
Trickled behind;

Voices curdled
Into mischief,

Shadows itched
And colours followed,

Borrowed horrors
Spat out squalor

Mixed with sorry
Old tomorrows,

Built on shattered
Cusps of faith,

It was fate that led him here
And he never questioned why.

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