Hope Of the Dead
What will you do when the lights fade and the bodies burn? Will you curl up, hope for the best, hope for the death? Sitting all alone in the broken shell that was a house, was a home, the tears rolling down your cheeks. Or are you hoping that they will miss you? That in all the confusion they will pass you by, bigger fish to fly and all that. But you only think that because you dont know them. They can smell your tears, hear your tiny little sobs, a rallying cry to their minds. They will tear down the walls to get to you, to your mind. They will break down doors, push through floors and smash windows. All they want are your thoughts.
Or will you fight? Grab a bat, rush out the the front line, swinging wildly. Pushing every hurt, every anger into that rage, pushing them back, beating them down. Killing them. But if it never lived, how can you kill it? It has no brain, it has no heart, all it has is soul. Burn them then, the flames spitting your bile into them, tearing the flesh from their bones, listening to their screeching as you smile. But then, are you any better than they are?
Or will you fight? Grab a bat, rush out the the front line, swinging wildly. Pushing every hurt, every anger into that rage, pushing them back, beating them down. Killing them. But if it never lived, how can you kill it? It has no brain, it has no heart, all it has is soul. Burn them then, the flames spitting your bile into them, tearing the flesh from their bones, listening to their screeching as you smile. But then, are you any better than they are?