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Nov. 1st, 2010 09:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crimson_fadeI
I am running from something invisible. I don't know what it is, nor does anyone else. But it makes the lights go out, and it makes them scream. I am running through the street, fake shoes on fake concrete under the fake sky, and when it hits me I feel fake pain, leaving the fake world and gasping.
Why does it hurt?
II
I am standing at a fence, looking an animal. It is a panda; it is fuzzy. It wanders up to me and rubs its nose against mine, eyes black and blank and warm. It is soft and makes me smile. Soon I turn around and run, because there is a parrot waiting for me.
Why do I leave things that are good?
III
I have to kill everyone. There is hardly anyone left, and anyone I know is confused or dying. I have to break their necks, pull the trigger, and tear their skulls apart. There is no mess, but I feel my head falling off. Bodies are crowding the hallways, and I have to throw them aside to save myself. My head is falling off. My head is falling off. My head is falling off.
Am I becoming one of them?
IV
They are playing puppets, but I am not part of their show. There is a river of blood; I think I'd like to something to drink now. Someone is serving cake, but I can't pay for it. I'm throwing my arms around him because he's all that I have left; he's thin and blonde and a smile full of teeth, but they're taking me away because the crew is arriving.
Aren't I in control?
V
I am hiding from something terrible; he is giant and all-powerful. He pulls the covers from my bed and finds me hiding there. I am supposed to serve him, and I am supposed to betray everyone else. He crushes my house with his foot, and I try to scream, but my voice is not loud enough. I refuse to wear that dress. I refuse to follow him into the sleek black car waiting in the driveway.
Don't I have a say in what I do?
Please don't steal it from me.
I am running from something invisible. I don't know what it is, nor does anyone else. But it makes the lights go out, and it makes them scream. I am running through the street, fake shoes on fake concrete under the fake sky, and when it hits me I feel fake pain, leaving the fake world and gasping.
Why does it hurt?
II
I am standing at a fence, looking an animal. It is a panda; it is fuzzy. It wanders up to me and rubs its nose against mine, eyes black and blank and warm. It is soft and makes me smile. Soon I turn around and run, because there is a parrot waiting for me.
Why do I leave things that are good?
III
I have to kill everyone. There is hardly anyone left, and anyone I know is confused or dying. I have to break their necks, pull the trigger, and tear their skulls apart. There is no mess, but I feel my head falling off. Bodies are crowding the hallways, and I have to throw them aside to save myself. My head is falling off. My head is falling off. My head is falling off.
Am I becoming one of them?
IV
They are playing puppets, but I am not part of their show. There is a river of blood; I think I'd like to something to drink now. Someone is serving cake, but I can't pay for it. I'm throwing my arms around him because he's all that I have left; he's thin and blonde and a smile full of teeth, but they're taking me away because the crew is arriving.
Aren't I in control?
V
I am hiding from something terrible; he is giant and all-powerful. He pulls the covers from my bed and finds me hiding there. I am supposed to serve him, and I am supposed to betray everyone else. He crushes my house with his foot, and I try to scream, but my voice is not loud enough. I refuse to wear that dress. I refuse to follow him into the sleek black car waiting in the driveway.
Don't I have a say in what I do?
Please don't steal it from me.
