The days go by in waves of stimulation; in a clockwork mechanism that ticks the moments by-that tocks the days away, while I stand idle in the corner. I'm watching with dissent and profound detachment as the ones I've grown up with live their lives according to a biological plan; in a culture of blind acceptance and illusion.
Make your babies! Sing your songs! It's all so pointless in the end no matter which way you preach it.
Tell your tales! Boast of your superiority! It's all a rumble of fabricated lies.
Life is so vapid, in essence. I'm ready to go, to cease in existence and to float off into the void, but I stay because I find too much pleasure pulling thread from its seams, with malicious intent to throw something certain askew, with a pluck or a pinch of my fingers. Laughing all the while.
It is late. And dawn will momentarily break, but I want to shout--wait! For just one day. Let the darkness lull ever constant with the living world. Oh, what chaos would then ensue? How many hearts would stop from fright? How many screams would pierce the night? How many bodies would run and fall out of sight? I ask you Sun, please remain in your slumber, if that is what you're doing, for one day, and grace me the chance to watch the world crumble, while I kneel on bruised knees and broken glass.

"I'll see you when it's over."
"Come back to me."
After the war he took her by the waist and pulled her in for a deep kiss. His sweet Annie. Her back arched as he pushed himself into her.
Rain fell from the sky in torrents of fat drops that molested every surface around Tom. The dream slowly dissolving with what little hope was still left. Her words still ringing in his ears, "come back to me." Tom lifted his heavy eyes from the growing puddles of mud surrounding him to scan the remaining soldiers huddled in the trench. Little streams-like veins- spill over the lip and into their sanctuary, washing away any sense of comfort.

Trudging marauders with crooked spines, yearning to meet their maker.
Pulling ropes from the sky.
Tugging roots from the earth.
Disturbing the delicate webwork beneath the ground.
Bits of bark, of soil, float mist-like above.