All the light has gone to heaven, ring the moon and point each star. The sky conspires to pierce the night. The wind chimes all peal and stir, gossiping away. The world moves along despite all the blood and moaning. The world turns over despite whatever crime or waste drags it to a halt. Every house haunted by the dozens of things never said and tomorrows that will never come. Every ghost a measure of what might have been.
The hole grows, with every option given. The hole grows, billed later or paid in advance. The tattoo of bird song and cold engines rises, motors grinding away their measure, absent wings another declaration of war. Left to faith and happenstance, facts fail the worlds we believe to be. Left to our own devices, we always choose hell first. Dig a little deeper, work a little more. Make what you must of the waste you earned.
Now the day is loosed upon all this wind and dust, the dreams longed for either broke or gone. Another day lost to the ministrations of strangers. Another soul sold to save the face of tradition. You wake to the worn out platitudes and the gracious savings, motorcycles struggling to drown out every lingering charm. You wake to rust and distance and that foul metallic grasp of the inevitable. Swallow each misery until there is nothing left to do but choke. Dive in to each lie until there is nothing to do but drown. You are already ruined. Tomorrow will never see you again.