Lost time in cold, leaden fields Forsaken epochs, unable to yield Shadow desires, darkly concealed I wear my armor like a beaten shield Stone-faced, aching, my fate is sealed Blood on my body swiftly congeals And you, my love, are not here A tender touch to tell me Everything will be okay And this dark landscape Is but a fleeting nightmare
And what if the apocalypse comes? Do we not deserve it? Have we not been traveling down this path for a very long time? I think of this often, and I believe there may even be sweetness in the flames that will consume us.
But this is beside the point. What is the point? That something is coming. Call it prophecy; call it what you will. I get the feeling everyone knows, though some are pushing it out of their mind.
When was the last time I saw a man die? It was yesterday, in fact, right in front of my eyes. His head was blown apart, point-blank range, and I was about twenty feet away, watching the violence unfold. It was cold and gray that morning, but nothing else about what happened was unusual. This is the reality now.
Mass death is the name of this game Don’t let it become normal School shootings aren’t normal Assault rifles in 18-year-old hands, not normal Murdered children and politicians who don’t care None of this is normal
Outrage is the proper emotion Anger is to be expected Scared parents are normal Depression and despair, also normal Fits of crying is perfectly normal