Shattered dreams of a thousand lives flash before me.  It is all I see.

Thousands upon thousands.

They will never come back.  They will never voyage forward.  They simply cease to be.

Cursed to madness.  Condemned to death.  Worse than death.  Doomed to grey.  To fade.  To cease.  Slowly.  One breath at a time.

The inhale comes slower and slower.  The labor increases with each drag of air over the lips.  The exhale will come with sudden force - escaping to never come back again.

Their air escapes into the static of the fools.  Fools who ddon't realize that in a blink of an eye, a change of the channel, everything will be gone.

Everything is gone.  It was gone before they knew what the images meant.  They complained the images were changing despite being the ones who controlled the channels.  They claimed they knew not what they did.

Fools.

The covering of your sins is pointless.  Lies drip away in puddles of ink that pool beneath our feet.

Puzzles of life are erroneous.  The sky is not blue but grey-red with the tears of shattered souls.

I am left.  I view them - the apocalyptic tears of shattered dreams.

The channel changes and changes again.  

I cannot sink into the static.