ShaedowDanceGlam

The poppies look like so many little splashes of blood. They are everywhere, little tears of ruby life. But there are no poppies in the middle of the field. Only a body. His face is so pale. White on white under crystal flakes. His blood carves a path through the snow. A burning force that twists across untainted beauty. In war, there is no black or white. Only crimson. An endless tide of crimson. Bravery and valour, distilled onto a white canvas. For what price can we buy it? An endless tide of crimson.

Tick tock. It's 12 o'clock. Someone's going to get a shock. Knock knock. Your head on a chopping block. Tick tock.

It is lonely up here. All I know is nothing. But I have some vestige, some remnant of consciousness, bestowed upon me, that allows me to tell you this. Humanity has many faults, cracks in society that let certain things slip through. Like the truth. They crawl over the earth like ants, searching an destroying and poking through the ashes to make sure they haven't missed a single scrap of anything of value. They bring with them a new age, of one who turns their backs on the silent cries of my blue sister, heedless of the cost, the effect on the future. They say they care. They invent devices and machines that turn waste into fuel. But then the

1. The old man sits on the edge and mourns his children, for they have all jumped into the unknown. He wants to join them, but he must remain there forever. 2. I lie here and wait, listening to the metal rusting. It is cold in here, and I live amongst those whom people have forgotten. 3. The boy who works here doesn't see me. But you must hurry, as the undertakers of humanities disgrace approach. 4. It is dark in here, and all I can smell is blood. Help me break this cage of white iron. 5. I'm right here. Hiding from grace. But I can smell the white pillars, and they have brought me closer. 1. Old tree, on the edge of a cliff. 2. Inside