Something under the ground snaps and you snap with it. The clouds play back and forth until they collapse, crying on the dead and spitting on the alive. His tattoos are hidden like how mute the good are. The sun is rising but it’s still dark, bats flying in the atmosphere, eating the skulls of the corpses. She doesn’t feel safe. She feels evil because everything else is also evil. But definitely not safe.
She wants to slice those armchairs, chopping off their stands and kicking them out into the red and orange of the fire. She wants to turn into a psychopath, or even more of one if she already is. She feels the pain of people but they’re all FAKE. Curious but not concerned are the talking people, nothing else to do and nothing good to say. Let them turn to dust again; they never deserved to have flesh. Stupid, robotic movements. Stupid, robotic reflexes. Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone to live for once.
She’s not bad. She’s unloved.
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