Blights

A poem.

the blights

they consume me

we remain destroyed

as we lay there

dying in holes

soulless,

covered in plague.

the wolves,

they search for us

undying

somber

zombified husks

the only thing we can do

is survive

and consume one another

slowly turning into zombified husks

the world has ended

there is no return

to the perfect world we once had.