This dream I wish I wished tonight. 
Black. Pitch. Nothingness.
The prequel to hell.
A jostle of hyperbole emits a distinct smell. 
A mimicry of murmurs alert.
Monstrosities, god’s gift to the world. 
An exodus of echoes encased in concrete. 
Born to stand tall so others may dance.
Why don’t you smile? Can’t you have fun?
Isolation isn’t healthy but you shouldn’t be here. 
We can smell the combat that lives in your fear.