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Drake Brayer Jul 2016
The violet sky was burning
An aura of deadly white
Myriad of colours churning
Among the silent lights

The sky awash with violence
The sounds of shattered steel
The terror of eternal silence
Was burned into my ears

The sound of grinding iron
The whistling of fallen shells
The blare of air-raid sirens
The cacophony suddenly fell

The death of sound was violent
It's melody so suddenly hushed
The music of war was silenced
Though its tempo remained untouched
Drake Brayer Jun 2016
I awoke to the sound of weeping, was a second before I realized it was my own.
It was strange because I felt like laughing, sad as that would be all alone.
My tired mind couldn't help it though, my decaying body couldn't stop.
I wheezed a laugh so wretched, into the dry cemented ground.
I spat blood onto the concrete, spat spit onto the road.
The broken old town around me, wouldn't mind the blood below. Closest thing to rain its seen, since six or so centuries ago.
My opponent was standing smugly, dark and tall and grim.
My shadow was never one to fault me, for the failure I'd always been.
Drake Brayer May 2016
The clock is ticking slowly
Its hands are counting down
The fires light below me
On dry land I start to drown

The deadline is drawing near
Its gleaming blade so clean
A razor's edge to the bite of fear
An echo within a waking dream

Its burnished steel is shining
Its varnished edge so keen
The silent fall oncoming
Its visage is so serene

The finale will be stunning
The death will be obscene
Once time is finished running
Silence will reign supreme
Drake Brayer Nov 2015
Sometimes I feel a sadness
So deep it hurts to breathe
When life slips to madness
And puts you on your knees

No god walks beside me
No king or country calls
No man is bound to duty
No cause is worth the fall

I'll walk with dignity
Right into an open grave
I'll take death with impunity
I'd rather die than be a slave
Drake Brayer Nov 2015
Silent pressure is building
Eyes are wicked calm
Hands aren't even shaking
The calm before the storm

My quiet eyes unflinching
My flesh is hardened steel
The violent wind is singing
Harsh upon my bitter ears

My heart is ever steady
Tension is building fast
None below are ready
Peace isn't meant to last

You'll be made immortal
A portrait formed of ash
Your image but a portal
To a long forgotten past
Drake Brayer Oct 2015
The smell of fire was ever fresh on the air, smoke seething in dark grey circles around the sky. Round and round and round, like a patient bird of prey. The concrete bridge felt warm, as if hell lay just beneath its surface. I could remember hearing screams, sounds of shrill shrieking panic. But now... nothing. Nothing but the silent crackle of not so distant flames. I felt warm, feverishly hot. I slowly turned my gaze to my arms, half expecting to see a half blackened skeleton with skin sloughing off by the fistful. I saw soot, soot and sprinklings of ash covered me. I looked like a snowman made in hell. Dante must be laughing right now. The world might be burning down around me right now, but the only thing I could think of- was how badly I wanted to say "boo!" My sheared lungs tried to chuckle- and I instantly regretted it. My body immediately slumped, as if some great god had wistfully flicked it from where it slouched against the bridge in a fit of whimsy. I would have laughed had my throat not suddenly erupted in flame. I swear I could feel the embers dotting my air canal lighting up like fourth of July fireworks. *******. Ouch is a ******* understatement. As the pain slowly started to subside, somewhere within my now crumpled heap of a body I got will power to open my eyes again. My mistake. Not 10 feet from where I lay- curled into my best imitation of a ball- lay the ash coated corpse of sloughed skin and splintered bone that I knew as Anna. I screamed. And this time, the agony couldn't stop me.
Drake Brayer Oct 2015
I waste so much time
My brain left on idle
No parties or fine wine
This waste is suicidal

The death of productivity
The death of all ambition
My time spent in passivity
Hating my lack of volition

Hating this immovable fear
The terror of abject failure
Screams "wait another year!"
And that terror is my tailor

For it crafts my every endeavor
I am not lazy nor am I weak
But the future is the bearer
And the harbinger of defeat
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