The world falls to its feet..

He sits on his chair as he watches you tare yourself to pieces....
Nothing really changed but nothing really the same...
She falls to the floor and feels the cold set in.
This world wasn't hers to begin with.
This world wasn't hers to play with.
He smiles, leans in, and stretches out his warm hand to her.
Come on, its not time to give up, its not time to give in.
The worlds going to fight, but you just gotta fight back harder.
All dreams all ready have been thrown away once, you just gotta create some more, just as you did before.
Don't stop at the roots of creativity, its the worst thing you can do.
She looks up with lost eyes, deep blue lost eyes.....
An asks how can I go on, I don't want to do this again!
He smiles, and asks.
How can you stop?

We all have are own versions of the world dieing. The world of which we created in the first place, and it doesn't take much. The only thing we can do is roll the peice of papper up in a ball and throw it away. Pull out a clean piece and keep on going. You can't stop, because if you do, what will you do?

Reviews

[Death Stalker]

littered with distracting errors, the poem doesn't really catch on with those errors, rewrite would be strongly advised.