Ode to New Years

The following is a decade old, and hopefully comes across as a giant middle finger to Dick Clark, in its own inimitable way.

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The year winds down. The pulsating clicking ticking clock of time draws everyone one more year down the spiral of mortality. Everyone is happy, cheerful, and festive. They don't know what is to come, but it always has to be better than how it was.

So they say.

Screams of terror in the streets echo down back alleys while a shiver runs up the spine. The city is crawling with vermin. Somehow the rats deal with this 'humanity'. The gears are starting their halt as they grind further into each other. Sparks of hatred and rage begin to fly anew as every soul who yearns alone is stuck in their holding cell. The prison cell of society and conformity.

Grind away, gears of doom, as the pathetic degenerates wait for a reset on life. A chance to say things will change even though they won't. All lies are formed in the rotting heart of human nature. Nothing will change. All that remains is the reset. New faces gone just like the last ones. Death and Tragedy rear their ugly heads and grin with diabolic glee as they prepare to disembowel this new start.

The new year will be just like the last one: Dead from the beginning, and only going further down the spiral.