How insipid can one get?
Dirt-filled fingernails, metal-filled bullets, yet nothing to grasp on but concrete. Miles of concrete and tons of debris filled the sight of the fallen city of the unimaginable. Blood fills no more, but flows, staining my eyes red. At last, my circulatory system merges with the ground. This land.
This country. How am I supposed to feel right now? Perhaps, a dancer revolving around her axis of symmetry. How perfect, how quaint. Perhaps, a tree of blossom, of life, where we shall sit together under the shades, and gaze at the crimson sunset. Ah, no. Your pale blue dress would be more suited for the very morning. The colour of awakening, of undeniable forces of life and survivability. Perpetually hopeful, you shall be. Waltz around more please.
Debris, more of it. I start to feel a haze overcoming me. She is no longer her, I reckon. Forever will she not indulge in such dull and trite activities as such of... Who am I to judge, though? The "she" that I yearn for, no longer present. Instead, a metallic, lifeless and unreflecting persona, a statue of unknown origins. How is this transformation possible? I closed my eyes, but I would not die. The life within me is still running. The heart within me is still pumping blood, albeit not inwards, but outwards.
But your smile is so... so touching. Perhaps, it is too simple of a word. Perhaps no word can do this job of unravelling why you are attractive to me. The most pure, serene, unpolluted fantasy of mine. I dare not touch you, for my presence will adulterate your calm. The blind me shall look, but not see, for eyesight alone is enough to desecrate this irresistible charm that steals my soul.
Now my heart feels really weak. I fear that I can no longer write anymore. Your black dress hid blades, and it pierced me right in the stomach. Not fatal enough to die immediately, but chronically saps my life. And you mercilessly walk, nonchalant, accompanied by the runner, walking under a mask. My gun falls out of my hand. I have failed to defend you, and I have thus fallen. The crack within me permeates, until it touches not my skin but my heart, where the most pain is received. Flowing... flowing... ever flowing...
Bury me under a tree, for life is never too sacred.
