Author: Anarchist Poet PM
i can't stop thinking about thisRated: Fiction T - English - Words: 256 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Published: 05-09-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2515470
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I'm surrounded by corpses
Who have somehow risen from the dead and continued living
Now they're all skin and bones and sunken in eye sockets,
these fragile shells where maybe a human used to be.
It smells like death.
Like in the movies,
Except they don't drink your blood,
No, they have other ways of draining the life out of you.
Every minute you spend with them, you lose a year of your life.
You can feel the life seep out of your skin,
And the moments you're with them, you wish you were dead, too.
They try to convince you, even.
The dead don't feel pain,
They tell me.
Everything is just beautifully numb,
But it's not beautiful to me,
It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen,
I push their needles away.
There's no color here, everything is grey.
There is no music, everything is silent.
There is no love, no passion, just endurance.
I want to pick them all up and carry them out of this place.
I want to show them blue sky and green grass
And beautiful music.
I want them to discover what it is to love and be loved
Because what I'm seeing isn't the dead,
It's far worse than that,
It's the dying.
They're dying every day, slowly, painfully,
Just waiting for it all to end.
Nobody should have to live that way.