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Nov 2018
November 29th
AKA The Day Before the World Ends.
Cause we’re going down
Like pilots at Pearl Harbor.
Maybe it’s cause of the sky opening up
And no it’s not the rapture.
Not yet anyways.
Our gas ceiling is shrinking
And our footprints are growing.
Pretty soon we may be
Like stars in the night sky
We’ll irradiate our radiation.
While satellites rotate around us.
Or are they soon to be space junk?

November 29th
AKA The Last Minutes Till Midnight.
Not that we have many left anyways.
Pretty soon we might get those questions
“Father, what was Nagasaki?”
“A joke, my son. It’s a joke.”
We could just... ****,
Gone in a cloud of fungal spores.
Not a trace of anything left.
All that would be left would be the
Like lightning bolts in the sky
We’ll strike and set fires.
The embers floating around us,
Or are they the last fireflies?

November 30th
AKA The Day the Horseman Rode Again.
The White one first
With his crown of gold.
Next, the red one.
With his goblet of blood.
Third, the black one.
With his weighing scales.
Fourth, the pale one.
With his bone-white clique.
Yet they can’t do anything, we’re
Death, is unstoppable, yes.
But only against what holds life’s kiss.
And inside... we’re cold.
I’ve been working on this one for a bit. I plan on doing another in the future, possibly multiple times if I have things to get out.
Written by
Austin Mizelle  17/M/Where dreamers sleep
(17/M/Where dreamers sleep)   
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