The wanderer is jostled by another passerby; his face is expressionless, his eyes are downcast, yet his thoughts are a storm. The last traces of light twist across an open sky, splashed red across the sparkling canvas. Dressed like an old wizard, the wanderer holds a gnarled staff, and is wrapped in a gray cloak that is dirty and worn. His pounding step is like an obscure beat; thump, thump, thump. The staff is held firmly; his hands slide up and down its surface when he pounds the twisted wood into the ground in time with his walking beat. The wanderer hears the music of voices joined in harmony. He seeks out each individual so that he may discover their song.

Whispering words, traveling through empty breezes. Collecting at the bottom of an abandoned stair well, of used up hopes and dreams. Graffiti walls and swirling rubbish, home to the few who saw no way out. Feeling pain, sorrow and anger, building, rising, covering all senses, taken up all room, till nothing is left.

Feeling nothing, but emptiness. A lack of reason, constantly wondering why... how....and when will it all end.

A look, a curse, a laugh... all diminish the last threads of hope...only to go away, be left alone, to weave the threads back to rope...only to once again be downgraded by those who claim to be friends, and enemies claiming that they're all innocent...when no one truly is.

Feeling useless and only being left out, constantly in the dark, till darkness is all you know...you no longer wish for the light, for it is too painful.

But you do not wish to be in the dark....for you are always alone...you are always blind...


"Abandoned to the hate, the evil.. you take comfort in its darkness. For the darkness is all you know, it was the only thing that was there... when you were most vunerable."