(no subject)
shrapnel against the irony of glass. trees mark the marching way as we make our way to the battle field. time and time again, it's like we've given up but we keep going. there is just nowhere else. lights urge us forward and we crawl. i close my eyes and listen to the flying pellets, to the drums out of sync. the knots in my stomach tie and tighten as i wait for something. i can feel it, i just wish i knew what it was. skies blacken above but i will wait in the terrain.
and i clear my throat for nothing.
and i clear my throat for nothing.