What if people were devoured, by something more than a beast?

What if they were eaten by misery, so a monster would be the least?

What if they were who they wanted to be, people who embrace the light?

Would something else engulf the humans, instead of the darkening night?

Immobile hands, mind slick but numb,she snakes through a white-washed book,

Writing was all she had ever known, but even that, her fate had took.

Her mind is empty, but soon starts scouring, through something more than the past,

The child writes about what colours felt like, how she knew that they were not made to last.

But what if life was truly photogenic, would she be grateful for it all?

But she concedes that we are narcissism itself, that the monsters within still call,

Despite all this, an inept child longs, to reach over a world of black and white,

Wishing she could erase it like paper, the way the misery spreads like blight.

Is humanity truly beyond redemption, or are they just pages to be filled?

Do certain lives give others meaning, or is the meaning the one who killed?

Do they all just have a twisted perception, ignoring the ones who do not?

Because if the world is truly paper, then your misery could be fought.

And even so, a paralysed child, dwindles and strays away from you,

She has the pen and ink and paper, that writes on the world in lieu.

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Idk I just had a poem idea but I didn't know how to properly express it but I tried anyways, so sorry if it's a bit confusing.