|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
TriggerI will be the victim and the cruel words on your lips
I will be the sin resting among your fingertips
I will be the innocence you lost so long ago
I will be the many things you never dared to know
I will be the throbbing heart and I will be your tears
I will be the basis of your undiscovered fears
I will be the aching mind, the troublesome disease
I will be the deadly heartbeat, you these things will please
I will be emotionless to make you seem so pure
I will find a beating heart, and then I'll find the cure
I will be the heartlessness that helps you to survive
I will pull the trigger just to make you seem alive...
Death Whispered A LullabyWhat's more to say about the sky that hasn't already been said a million-times over? It was a pleasant aquamarine blue, with a light accenting of clouds, spread out nice and evenly across the sky. The career master sergeant had been decked out flat on the dirty road, amongst a thick layer of rubble and brick, near the front of a large plaza structure. He had been stitched left to right, across the stomach, by an hidden medium machine-gun position.
It was so quiet that the ringing in his ears could just barely penetrate, but none of the sounds from the outside made it to his head. He didn't hear the gunfire or explosions. They weren't important to him anymore. He didn't hear another of his fellow soldiers' as he fired a rocket into the nest of enemy aggressors that had cut him down; the building's lobby exploded and collapsed in on itself from across the street. He heard nothing of it.
All the man heard and saw was a story being told by a tall, hooded figure with a scythe. It was his to
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
Keep in Touch!