I wrote a letter to you.

I wrote it in my sleep.

You see, even in my sleep

I'm thinking about you.

You're in my dreams,

And all my nightmares,

You haunt me like the plague.

How can I make you go away?

How do I get you out of my head?

You're like a drug

I'm addicted to

Your smile, your laugh,

Your pretty, pretty eyes.

I can't get enough of you.

It's driving me insane.

But somehow

I don't know why

But

I don't want it to end

Me and you

Have our own kind of love

Cause you and I,

We're two of a kind

Our love is

staying up

at all hours of the night

grinning at our phone screens

'cause I said something dumb again

Our love is

holding hands

and leaning on one another

even though it makes him mad

even though he tells me to back off

Our love is

trust

I trust you

You trust me

I just hope you trust me enough

To still love me

When I try to tell you he's bad news

(not that you understand what I say)

Best friends, we are

You and I

I hope it stays that way

When he kicks me out of the picture

Not that I'd ever leave your side

But I would if you told me to

'Cause I'd do anything for you

Since I love you so

It's been years

Since I last saw myself smile

The person in my mirror

Seems like a stranger

They have my face, my eyes,

The little scar on my chin

But that is not my smile

For I do not have a smile

Around this time of year

I recall a period of my life

That seemed to be

A thousand centuries ago

But also felt like yesterday

It was a time where I was sick

A time where I wished to sleep forever

To close my eyes and never wake

For the troubles plaguing me

Would only let me be when I

Was lost in dreamless slumber

I was lonely

And if there was a god

Then he took my hand

And broke my fingers

He shattered my bones

And ripped apart my mind

I was dead inside

And my mask was rotting

But there was nothing I could do

Except sleep

For a hundred years

And nothing has changed

Since then

We walk,

with holes in our skulls and knives in our hearts.

There's blood,

is it mine, or yours? We cannot tell anymore.

We've got rope burn around our necks,

open gashes down our chests

We've died in many ways, you know

but somehow we're still living.

They killed us all,

each and every one of us.

Did we deserve it? Perhaps.

No one will ever know.

We walk,

with missing limbs and cut off heads.

Around our feet the blood forms a pool,

a never ending ocean of vivid red

that grabbed our ankles and pulled us in.

We're drowning,

drowning in a sea of blood.

When we rest we can feel it,

feel the gun to the gut,

the pillows pressing down on our faces.

We never speak of it,

it's forbidden, you see.

All we have is the scars on our bodies

and the muttering of our slumber.

And the never ending torrent of blood

falling like rain from the cracked open heavens

and there's nothing we can do

but walk

Goodnight, dear world

For you I wish a pleasant slumber

And I hope I shall rise

To see the brilliant dawn

But if I do not

I shan't fret a bit

For I know I will catch a glimpse

Of a beautiful morning

So goodnight, my lovely world

I will see you soon once more

They made the very sounds of death, deep in the gaping crevice of their tattered chests. Where a heart should beat underneath the monsters' rubbery flesh there was nothing, for their chests were torn wide open for the world to see that they were merciless.

Their blood ran like tar; with every lurching step another waterfall of black muck spilled over broken ribs and charred skin to pool on the ground. Giant, clawed feet soiled with blood of their brothers and the blood of themselves stumbled and tripped, for these monsters were not graceful beasts.

They had teeth like jagged spearheads, and eyes that gleamed the toxic shine of nuclear waste. Their unhinged jaws and dirt smeared faces seemed more ungodly than the fates that they brought with them.

From their throats they brought forth their song of death, the sound of children screaming and mothers crying and fathers bleeding out onto cold, hard stone but smiling, for the war was theirs. They made the sound of bullets shrieking and machine guns firing, grenades exploding and people dying, one by one, their blood like tar in the streets.

And in their torn chests there beat no heart, for although these beasts are not killers, they are only deliverers, they do not look as if they deserve what we murderers have underneath our perfect skin.

It began with the sun. Its light, like blackout curtains once a theatrical performance has begun. From far away, one might see quite the spectacle; gentle gold against shocking blue in a dance no artist could recreate.

The waterfall's crash into the earth stood frozen in ice. The sun's soft rays caressed its very core, spreading warmth where there previously was none.

A thrum, too quiet for the ear to grasp, began to arise. It welcomed the heat's embrace. As the sun climbed higher into the watercolor sky, the ice danced.

The sun twirled, the ice pirouetted. The climax of their fast paced waltz, crack, crack.

The ice shattered, the sun bowed.

The water fell like the blackout curtains as the performance was drawn to a close.

It pulses like a heartbeat,

Steady, strong, and never-ending

It binds us together as the people

Of this godforsaken world

The solid beat inside our souls

It can't be seen, can't be heard

It's the feeling of belonging

The feeling of love

It's the rhythm of life

That stirs deep in our hearts

Pulling us to something more

Pulling us to someone special

Our steps are a dance

To this rhythm within us

Each trip, each stumble, each fall,

Every dive deeper into nothingness

Is a pull of the rhythm

And the end of the dance

The end of the pulsing beat

Is a brand new rhythm

To lead us