I can hear them crying.

I can see them whimpering.

They lay on the street.

A street reddened with hate.

Their calls,

Desperate.

Broken.

Silent.

Left unheard.

They are cold,

They are hungry.

They are wishing for a miracle.

I can hear their stomachs.

I can see their wounds.

I can smell their stench.

The stench of death.

I can see their hope.

I can see the ruin.

An ugly mixture.

It leaves their eyes murky.

It leaves me shattered.

I can hear the whispers.

I can feel the dark.

The clouds cover the sky.

Dark. Gray. Black. Red.

The colors of hate.

The colors of death.

The colors of a crumpling world.

I can hear the screams.

Day is only night.

I can see their blood.

It covers the roads.

It covers my hands.

It is everywhere.

Red. Black. Gray.

A scream is heard.

A wound is left untended.

It gets worse. It gets bubbly.

Another screech.

I'm awakened.

It is night.

Or is it day?

I can smell them.

I can hear them.

I can see them.

And in a world,

So broken as this one,

I am left wondering,

Where have all the heroes gone?