The Remainings

Evil oppression where miscalcuations went over-board. Refusing to forget by self, time, or life, he graduates into a hold of control that will spare enough time to mark the world: rather than just 1.

Closing and opening doors that has already been haunted,
As shunned as the last residual resident fool who dared.
Don't cry. Deal with it.
We all deal with the cards were dealt, even if its
somewhat spiritual. We have churches, councils and drugs,
no matter what it is, you will be ok.
The clock ticks, the bell buzz and makes that noise that goes bing.
The cat runs away although no dog is around in an empty house.
The parot finally talks, hello, hell, hello.
Every door to every house that is vacant, closes.
Every cat in the street looks up when the dying man
who dared, foolishly,
attempted crying out to the churches in his neighborhood.
To make them believe him and understand him.
Even the church doors closed on him as the cats in the street dissapears.
The parots is left stiff and suddenly unable to move or speak.
The doors opened, but still no ones home.
The cards shuffles and then gets drawn onto the table.
3 cards to view.
First card, read: Death.
Better him, than me, they say.
I guess that's a good excuse to doubt his troubles.
An old man spills his hot cofee on his lap and ends up so frustrated, he ran his cat away.
Second card: Revenge
His new home door opens.
But, from people, pages, blood, screaming, rage, hate, opposite traditions of the bible, birds flaps away from their nests.
Card number, 3: Power.
Gambling and exc. sex, get-togethers, organizations: for one purpose, never for love.
Dripping water, and blood from the bath, a naked hand.
Being the only one to bring her a rose,
the cat comes into the front door,
the birds flaps onto the front porch,
and the moaning sounds of a woman screams, I love you.
He walks away from this woman in the tub.
The rose is in her hands and although she may seem dead,
she was only bitten.
Cold fact, one out of one.
His opinion: nothing is more fearful and frustrating than killing one and serving life for it.
Knowing the remainings are still out there,
it would rather be better than to bite them all, 1 by 1,
until they are swallowed by the foot-works of death.
1st person translation, "Its not that I'm nuts or simply bad; I don't forget."
The parot reminds us all: hello, hell, hello.
The cards drop on the floor.
The moaning, I love you.
He held his son, cuddled him and sung to the little one.
The bell buzzes and makes that noise that goes bing.
Looking through the blinds,
he presents his son life: a new life of fredom to grow,
build, lead and rule.
But never because of, unless onto him, or never for,
and never with, love. For, no one.
He say unto his son, look at the remainings, say hi.
Finally, the doors are left alone.
The animals are left alone.
The parot goes back to trying to learn that first, word.
He's not withering away behind bars to the days of knowing that they are still out there.
Instead, he's putting his baby to sleep, following his wifes voice,
telling him to hurry to bed.
The cats reapeared on the streets and the old man started laughing again.
The clock reversed, counter clock wise, but still he remains to remember.
For you. Yup just for you. You, the remainings.