The pavement is cracked, what life that comes forth is twisted because the way through the concrete is a long and crooked path. Petty flowers are crushed underneath, only weed pushes through. They told me life would find the light but I see only death in the vegetation on these desolate roads. A lamp hang suspended over the street and its white gleam makes even this filth appear sterile.
It has been long since I have stood on the ground, although my heavy boots still separates me from any real contact. I uproot a handful of plants and they are crushed so easily in my grip.
There is a sound from the air duct that I was sent to investigate. Something is stuck amongst the fans, a heap of black feathers and blood that appear black under the cold stare of my flashlight.
It had went down in flames, with entrails splattering as metal knifes churned away until lodging in the mess of bones and flesh. Strangely enough it smelled like cooking.
do you ever wish you could just stop time for like a couple weeks so you could just sleep and do whatever you want and just get your shit together and then after that time would just start back up again and you wouldn’t have missed anything because you would just pick up where you left off
"The rain is full of ghosts tonight."
Edna St. Vincent Millay (via likeafieldmouse)