(no subject)
every once in a while, the sky opens up, big blue phosphorescent raindrops falling like tiny wet lemmings. and the world seems to sit at the bottom of a gulch, ugly misery puddles collecting in the purple mud. the breeze smells like moldy dandelions & matchstick heads. on the outskirts of civilization, where the darkness of our collective unconsciousness gathers, packs of rabid beasts are roaming. groaning. owning the night. thick-veined leathery wings flutter, echoing terrified hearts across the land, most pumping blood gone cold & syrupy with despair. if there's a flicker left in hope's homefires, it can't be seen from here, buried under ash & soot & broken dreams. we've forgotten all the old songs, forgotten the sun, the moon & all the other gods. now we pray only that this frigid rain would numb our sorry aches.