Trace of darkness in the sky,
Trace of hatred across the eye,
   It is an empty time, a shriveled heart,
   It is a wild man-beast, already gone,
   It is the winding streets twisting into knots,
   It is the clutching fingers, clawing for your throat,
You try to look away, to turn, to break apart,
You try to run, to hide, to lose your way,
    But lines are simple things, with simple lives,
      Unbent, unbroken they cant turn away,
        While you forgot how they can wreathe in pain,
          How shine the broken curses twined into the way.