I walk around as a hollow vessel.
Listening to the whispers around me.
The trees they speak of such devilish deeds, you would think I was sprawled out in the basement of a mausoleum.
And as they boil the blood in my body, with talks of loathing, and self pity.
I see we are the apocalypse that other writers once feared.
We are the generation of hate, when we should be the generation of love.
My darlings, you say to love is not enough, so I walked over to the closest tree and poured from my already diminishing canteen.
And you should have seen the way it flourished, but it only craved more.
So yet I am left here to walk.
A hollow vessel.
Without the necessary things I need to survive.
I will soon be nothing more then food for the trees.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
I walk around as a hollow vessel.
Listening to the whispers around me.
The trees they speak of such devilish deeds, you would think I was sprawled out in the basement of a mausoleum.
And as they boil the blood in my body, with talks of loathing, and self pity.
I see we are the apocalypse that other writers once feared.
We are the generation of hate, when we should be the generation of love.
My darlings, you say to love is not enough, so I walked over to the closest tree and poured from my already diminishing canteen.
And you should have seen the way it flourished, but it only craved more.
So yet I am left here to walk.
A hollow vessel.
Without the necessary things I need to survive.
I will soon be nothing more then food for the trees.
