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 Oct 2013 Christian zeal
Darkin
Do you ever get bothered by the habit
of making your habits not bother you?

We have clocks that whisper
find your rhythm
but really what is said is
our rhythm will find you

This is a conspiracy theory of the highest degree
Are we conditioned to condition ourselves to die by conditioning?

The most dangerous habit
could be lip service

because you may forget
how to actually meet another person

What TV do you watch? What books do you read?
Oh I love that one
He is SO funny in that movie!

There are some monsters whose appetites for souls are insatiable.
They live in between the words.
We're all food for something.
What are we feeding?
 Oct 2013 Christian zeal
AJ
How can everyone expect me
To move on
When I'm not even sure
What happened.
I just know that it was a big deal.
I never process things that could hurt me.
 Oct 2013 Christian zeal
Reece
Were they not reliable, the winds when they came
Was it not sadness they felt, when the tribes lost a name
(Amidst the rubble and ash,
he vivaciously spills his cash)
Was it not atonement swept across the crowd
Were their heads not solemn when they bowed
(A city in mourning,
strategic forewarning)
Did the music not play at low volumes in the eve
Did the stories of the past not eventually interweave
(He stands atop an empire so vast
realising now that his time has passed)
Do you not feel great elation that the town now lays dead
Do you not thank them kindly that you were allowed to be mislead
(Ah, but a story never ends with the champion
merely fertilised soil for the blooming rampion)
"I tried. I tried. I tried."
A scream so desperate it turns into the grating whine of a whipped dog. The begging in the eyes and the white of gripping knuckles.
"I tried, I promise I tried."
The damage is massive. I cradle the shoulders of the full-grown man in my left arm, my right hand hovering helplessly across where half his body used to be. It's too much. He's shaking, trying to pull himself into my chest, based on the feel of his hands. I find his eyes. He's begging, repeating himself with agonizing desperation. I grip his face firmly in my right hand, smearing blood and sweat. The pressure on his jaw slows his words and he is staring at me with the deep-eyed trust of a loyal hound, sinking into the promise of my unwavering gaze.
"You did well," I murmur, giving his head a gentle shake to emphasize my words. I blink to clear the pooling in my eyes. His mouth is open, slack, but he tries a smile. He is choking. On bone or blood, something I cannot see. His legs **** convulsively, but he doesn't seem to notice. He keeps my eyes. I gently rock his head with my hand and his eyes grow absent. His legs grow still.
I weep into his mangled chest.
From the darker corners of my heart.

— The End —