The dark sides coming. No sign of the sun but the light has one running. Hands up as the screams heard as bodies dropping. Years on knees teaching one to stand. Sands of time play the day. Rays banned as humanity remains lowkey. Stress overflowing, the heart fleeting. Dreaming of blood flowing, pumping green potions.
A brief entry to something I am writing, short stories of the tales we hardly hear about, plague us, cause us uncertainty, what it means to be human: Wretched souls bearing waste to paradise. Caught in perilous ventures that are filled with their emotions. What ails these frail beings filled with blood and weak bones?
Used to know some guy that worked 6 to 3. Free only in mind so he changed it to 9 to 5 to see. What a guy, isn’t he? Impressive? Works so hard yet behind the curtains is so damn depressive. Frozen food, caught remotely in control questioning his purpose. Searching for another day because
The frigid, steel floor trembled below the group. They could all feel it beneath their bare feet. Huddling closer together as they were unsure of what was happening outside. Darkness swallowed them. The engine roaring and humming throughout the voyage. Brakes screeching. The sounds of the truck echoed through the haul. They could only assume
The water dripped from the side of the table. Hitting the floor and sending an echo that stretched through the air, as the sounds bounced off the walls. The cup, now rolling to follow the course drawn in steady streams. The hands that held it twitched every few seconds. Eyes that wandered, penetrated by the