Superficial feelings: a high of great command;
Introspective warfare in the palm of your hand.
Today I realized that I am only pixels on your screen. Merely a background character who you will forget in a matter of days.
I have lost count of the times
where I have seen your face
out of the corner of my eye
but I can’t bring myself
to turn around because I know
that I am seeing what I want to see
and nothing more.
I’m spending tonight like I always do. (missing you)
A raindrop rolls down my window and I can’t help but link it to you.
(like I do everything else)
It takes everything in me not to just wipe it away. To kiss it away. To lick every single rain drop until the sky heaves in numbness. To just call you.
take me in
six inches deeper
my cold blade yearns to rust inside your heart
feel my pain
before the blood dries
I want to be the one to drain the color from your eyes
Please don’t post spur-of-the-moment poetry on the internet where thousands of people could potentially view it...
You’re so welcome,
P.S. Good luck with, well, you know what.
I don’t think you realize just how much you mean to me, and my biggest fear is that you never will.
The sound of crimson rain descending from large, black clouds and landing with a vengeance on reinforced steel echoed solemnly throughout the night sky.
This post-demolition city was destroyed beyond recognition after the warhead hit.
Barren streets decorated with scattered rubble and the smell of decay saturated the night air. The radiation caused the rain to turn the color of blood; the blood of the millions of people that the projectile disintegrated.
Just North of the blast radius, a small, barely standing apartment complex stood ***** from the broken ground.
On the second floor of this hotel of hell, two teenagers, a boy and a girl, were quickly becoming men and women; their pleasure loud, but never heard.
Above them on the third floor, a woman hung **** from the ceiling. Her sickly body covered in boils from the radiation.
Two floors below, seven skeletons were spread equidistant from each other. The boy and girl had moved them surreptitiously after doing something with them that even I would not in right mind divulge.
The fourth floor was a horrible sight. A dying baby screaming helplessly; his mother and father lying dead beside him; they both shot themselves. The baby was born with six tiny, black eyes, and no legs to crawl. He’d take his last breath before the sun rose in the morning.
The boy finished his act, and took a large puff of a cigarette. The girl, completely satisfied and lying in blood, chose the needle. The boy followed.
It was their escape. A way to leave the pain of being orphaned by the war. Every single loved one and friend was slaughtered like cattle by the enemy. It was only them now.
This was their first night at the makeshift hotel, and they came willing to die. Together. They knew the radiation would overcome their sickly bodies.
There was nothing left to live for.
No place to call home.
Hölle auf Erden.
O night divine.