All
we do now is sit around campfires.
We
lean in so the heat hits our faces. The smoke makes our eyes water. Look into
the orange roll and curl and the hum, the soft roar, the crackle and pretend it’s
not hurting anyone. We look to the light so we cannot see the night behind us.
We don’t know what’s creeping up until it’s too late.
And
the children? All gone. Would you take a new-born child, so small in your arms,
God’s only innocent children, and plunge them into the void? The ones left
behind in the hallway, who already knew they had waited too long, they are gone
too. Become caught in limbo between young and old and alive and dead.
…
I notice, with him,
something has been lost along the way. The look in his eyes feels like home. He’s
alone in a world of pretty empty faces.
Thisisnotsomethinganyonewouldwishforthisisnotwhatyouwantthisisnotwhatiwant
There’s a frequency,
a glow, a hum, and it starts to melt the brain. It’s been going for long
enough, genuine souls are scarce. I was lucky to
youshouldleavemeheretorotidonotwantthisnooonewantsthisididntresistionlyfailedfind
him.
Why do I call myself
lucky? It’s all I believe in. There is nothing more to it, and everyone knows
by now but no one will say it. Just pretty faces, moving towards one constant.
One for men and one for women.
idontknowwhattobelieveicannotbelievebeauseitfeelasthoughiamholdingontotheedgeoftheuniverse
And there is nothing
left in you. Does anyone notice? Can anyone see anything? Can they? What happened
to him?
iseeeverythingiseetheworldbeingbornanddieiseemyowndeathcomingandicannotseeanythingelse
Where did all these
questions come from?
I am not to ask
questions. I am here to keep myself going. A walking paradox. I am here to
protect. I am not a real human being.
Points: 664
Reviews: 841
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