World War Z Baring Down

"Are we son?" his short breaths begin to slow as he watches the clouds roll in. "Are we all meant to suffer? Do you believe that you've truly suffered?" The pause leaves room for a response but the son can't find the words to fill the void. His lips are blue, frozen. His tongue is heavy but nothing clever rolls from it. He planned for a moment like this. To lash his tongue deep into his fathers flesh. To match those scars that a few shards of shrapnel had left. "Just like many questions, there are no answers, just awkward expressions that hold truth." The sons hands now begin to shake. "I watched men roll over grenades and have holes punched through their stomachs. Limbs torn and strewn across long expanses." The winds picked up. The sweet smell of wild flowers carries past. Gently, their hair moves. "I watched as our units vehicle hit a land mine. The mass of flames and steel rolled over my friends leaving me sitting in their mush. I sat their in tears for two days. They found me laying in the desert sand." His expression hasn't changed. It's getting darker, rain begins to drip slowly onto the curves of our shoulders. Picking up as time passes. "I wear this scar on my shoulder as a reminder, that I was lucky, that they weren't." His eyes wander from the sky to his son. "Son, you don't know suffering. You know nothing of the sort to be exact. The surge that's coming will surely bring you to know what suffering is." Faint images appear to be walking in the horizon. Flesh eaters. Empty vessels. Human Serpents. Both dead and alive. The wind picks up their smell. Rotting. Their slow walk turns into a mad dash. "Well, it seems like we need to hurry up. They'll be here in a few minutes." The sons body hits the ground, his eyes, once filled with fear, are now empty. Hollow. The only bullet his father had left in his gun, used to take his sons own life. "Suffering. I truly know suffering." He sits, rubbing the warm barrel against his temple. He sits on an old hickory stump, waiting for the living dead to over take him. This was his gift to his son. "Know not suffering son, know not." Moments feel like hours passing through him. He can now begin to hear their feet stampeding toward him, but he doesn't hear their moans, their howls. It gets louder, right on top of him. He hears a booming voice, "stay their, we're lowering to get you. Help is here."

Drudge

In times of peril, we grasp for those safety nets,
hope we crash softly, fear not, know not, am not,
and we try to allow our tears to bring hope,
a purge of weakness, a new found strength.
No nets beneath us, no ropes to ease us back into place,
fear not, know not, am not, can not.
and each dream brings us clarity,
each grain of sand intensifies the purge,
Fear not insecurity,
Know not suffering,
Am not a plague,
Can not truly die.

Heroes exist in those that lose all hope, faith, security and even against these odds they seem to gain true clarity.

Bright Lights Burnt Out

And they pile high in excess, tears still streaming from their eyes, the hot lights and bright sun tan their skin, the sweat, the blood, each one dying sooner or later. Children, all of them children, that quick crack, the strap runs up my back, cutting the flesh, with each snap, new warmth. You could see the skin peeling into the air. Dig me into the ground. Tunnel me into the ground. Save me, Save me. Last of a Generation. Last of a Generation. And as I dream, I drown, and as I breathe I suffocate. Time’s run out.

we can learn a lot from bumble bees. I've noticed that they have an easy time getting into tight spaces but have a terrible time getting out. They stay there and suffer until they die. Alone and forgotten. We spend our entire lives trying to find our way in to whatever we wanted to get into...it's getting out that's the tricky part.

I am no one....

I am nothing

We Expand On Collapse

Steele structures, rising upward to vast heights,
up and out, manifest destiny, up and out,
at the tops, small lights that used to blink
reds, greens,
magnificent stars shining in unison,
they all rust and become weak,
climbing their curling stairs,
now a danger,
each step, a trial, a tribulation,
insides gutted by times effortless trials,
so swift,
so unforgiving.
rusted machines lining the roads,
once moving, now abandoned clutter,
times cruel reminder of insecurity.
glass glimmering from broken lamp posts,
smashed windows, Kristallnacht,
abandoned apartment buildings,
expensive high rises,
the rubble still there.
The remains of denim designer jeans,
torn and disassembled,
strewn through each of the streets,
high jungle weeds grow through the concrete,
entire sidewalks devoured by swamp grass,
bits of planes strewn from corners,
finding their paths through desolated buildings that burned for months.
Some things are constant,
the wind still blows, the sun still shines,
the sky still blue.
Silence,
my ears are deaf with silence.