tricycleamoving
Stuck in motion.
It's a literal coffin, buried in air and in nothing, body frozen.
Frozen in motion.
Your eyes move but nothing else does, a warning to those who dare to look, to peer into this makeshift coffin at the edge of space, of nothingness, of drifting dreams. A warning for those who dare to oppose.
To rise up and protest and take back what was once rightfully yours.
No one said this world had to be fair.
Today is not a normal Saturday.
Today's Saturday is rife with strife and sickness and unwilling victims, with guns at doors and fleeing crowds and the impatient honks of cars and buses and trucks.
Today's Saturday reeks of decay and of putrid flesh.
Today is not a normal Saturday.
Today is when the zombies broke out, and hell was unleashed.
configuration. the word rolls off my tongue like some mechanical disparity, like sharp edges and perfectly cut diamond blades. configuration.
I loathe the word, if only because it is like logic and logic exists only to hurt those who dare to dream. It is like science and sense and severity and nothing like the clouds.
I miss the clouds.