The last human on earth
Is very lonely
As any person would be
When they're all alone.
The last human on earth
Checks his Facebook.
As any person would do
When they're lonely.
There are no new posts.
After all the fights we've fought
And all the things we're not
After all the pain we've caused
We have yet to find pause.
Where are we? We suddenly ask
As we pull our dry lips from the flask
Of the drink of Death, heavily diluted
With the water we've willingly polluted.
Long live the leaders, who've confessed
To convictions, crimes, piercing their chest
Waving a bleached flag, once red
Portraying proudly the things they've said.
Things they've promised, but never did.
Things they've done, but thoroughly hid.
Through all our strength, wars and history,
We have yet to meet a single victory
That didn't result in some sort of sham
Dear you;
Look at you; a tattered mess, lying on the floor. What have you become? Your clothes are scattered around the room, your limbs lay, splayed out in every direction. Your eyes stare vacantly off into the distance, as if you're looking, but not really seeing the world. How dare you? How dare you taunt me with your arrogant existence?
Your mouth hangs open like a blow-up doll, waiting for the next customer. And that's what you've reduced yourself to, isn't it? A man's best friend, but only when he's in search of company (of the darkest kind). You didn't choose this life, but you certainly didn't back out of it, eit
Dear Stevie;
Steven, Steve, Stevie. My Stevie, why are you crying? Wipe those tears from your cheek here, use my sleeve. The soft baby-blue fabric can sooth your red eyes. Need a hug? Don't be afraid to pull my arms around you, because they're always here, waiting for you to run back to me. My body may be tattered, old and grayed, but I'll help to comfort you for as long as I'm able.
Now, what is the matter? I know that these days, your problems are not as simple as scraping your knee on the sidewalk, or dropping your lollipop onto the ground. Did that boy, Erik, from across the street take your bike again? Oh, he has moved away? H
I open my eyes, and the first thing that comes to mind is, 'Where am I?' The familiar ramshackle houses have fallen down, and the earth is black beneath me. A dark cloud of smoke hangs above the trees, though I can still smell it from here, on the ground. Which brings me to my next thought; why am I lying on the ground?
I stiffly get up. My leg and chest hurt, though I cannot remember why. I reach up to brush the hair out of my eyes, but pull my hand away, feeling something sticky and warm. Looking at my hand, I see it covered in soot and blood. I gently poke and prod my head until I find a long cut reaching from my ear to the nape of my n
Morning. Get up. Find food. Walk. Find food. Go to sleep. Repeat. That's all our lives have become. Nothing else matters besides eating, finding shelter for the night, surviving for one more day. Europa understands this. Doesn't she?
She's only eight. Eight years old; 98 months old; 2,922 days old, however you want to say it. That's too young; too young for anyone to go through what she has. But what about me? I'm only 17, and that's not too far from eight. How much could a teenage boy handle?
No, now is not the time to be thinking about myself. Europa, my little sister, my baby sister, is counting on me. Counting on me to find her food,
The last human on earth
Is very lonely
As any person would be
When they're all alone.
The last human on earth
Checks his Facebook.
As any person would do
When they're lonely.
There are no new posts.
After all the fights we've fought
And all the things we're not
After all the pain we've caused
We have yet to find pause.
Where are we? We suddenly ask
As we pull our dry lips from the flask
Of the drink of Death, heavily diluted
With the water we've willingly polluted.
Long live the leaders, who've confessed
To convictions, crimes, piercing their chest
Waving a bleached flag, once red
Portraying proudly the things they've said.
Things they've promised, but never did.
Things they've done, but thoroughly hid.
Through all our strength, wars and history,
We have yet to meet a single victory
That didn't result in some sort of sham
Dear you;
Look at you; a tattered mess, lying on the floor. What have you become? Your clothes are scattered around the room, your limbs lay, splayed out in every direction. Your eyes stare vacantly off into the distance, as if you're looking, but not really seeing the world. How dare you? How dare you taunt me with your arrogant existence?
Your mouth hangs open like a blow-up doll, waiting for the next customer. And that's what you've reduced yourself to, isn't it? A man's best friend, but only when he's in search of company (of the darkest kind). You didn't choose this life, but you certainly didn't back out of it, eit
Dear Stevie;
Steven, Steve, Stevie. My Stevie, why are you crying? Wipe those tears from your cheek here, use my sleeve. The soft baby-blue fabric can sooth your red eyes. Need a hug? Don't be afraid to pull my arms around you, because they're always here, waiting for you to run back to me. My body may be tattered, old and grayed, but I'll help to comfort you for as long as I'm able.
Now, what is the matter? I know that these days, your problems are not as simple as scraping your knee on the sidewalk, or dropping your lollipop onto the ground. Did that boy, Erik, from across the street take your bike again? Oh, he has moved away? H
I open my eyes, and the first thing that comes to mind is, 'Where am I?' The familiar ramshackle houses have fallen down, and the earth is black beneath me. A dark cloud of smoke hangs above the trees, though I can still smell it from here, on the ground. Which brings me to my next thought; why am I lying on the ground?
I stiffly get up. My leg and chest hurt, though I cannot remember why. I reach up to brush the hair out of my eyes, but pull my hand away, feeling something sticky and warm. Looking at my hand, I see it covered in soot and blood. I gently poke and prod my head until I find a long cut reaching from my ear to the nape of my n
Morning. Get up. Find food. Walk. Find food. Go to sleep. Repeat. That's all our lives have become. Nothing else matters besides eating, finding shelter for the night, surviving for one more day. Europa understands this. Doesn't she?
She's only eight. Eight years old; 98 months old; 2,922 days old, however you want to say it. That's too young; too young for anyone to go through what she has. But what about me? I'm only 17, and that's not too far from eight. How much could a teenage boy handle?
No, now is not the time to be thinking about myself. Europa, my little sister, my baby sister, is counting on me. Counting on me to find her food,
Just a new account.
Here I'll be posting mostly writing that I've done lately.
My writing will be mostly fiction, whether stories or poetry. Always clean.
I don't expect much feedback. I know that I'm a novice.
Enjoy, nonetheless.