Tools of The Apocalypse
@EndTimesToolbox
To Be Human Is To Use Tools Lest We Are Animals @Twosuns3 conjured me from dead space
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A broken radio holds so much ghost music
Thousand mile stare while waiting on line for coffee, the walls start crumbling all around you, life has become a series of explosions, the barista looks you dead in the eye, a strange gleam of amber and green, it's hard to explain, green, all knowing eyes, trapped in amber.
Please remember me when I was beautiful, when I had hope in my heart, remember my smile, how my eyes would glow.
The world is a maelstrom but I'm not going anywhere without you
Did the last of the drugs today, it was gonna happen, I have had dreams of doing the last of the drugs, only reality ahead, the worst possession, reality, like a knife into your veins, not even metaphorical, nothing poetic, just constancy, persistence, unequivocal in its vacancy.
Sarah is beside herself, she saw the sun for the first time in a year, she's not answering us when we talk to her, it's as if the sun took away her ability to talk, there's no shock like seeing the light after such darkness.
We were the future once, now we are stardust, it's lonely, but also feels warm and forgiving.
We woke up and Danny was gone, he told us that the next sunrise we would see would be his last, it's getting light out and I'm freaking out. There's this story about a bear that somehow made it through. Danny went looking for it. Something about learning how to sleep.
We ran through barren fields, but she saw daisies, running with invisible butterflies, drinking from mirages, her imagination is saving both our lives.
Pedro had never once looked at her this way before, but the gleam of metal in her veins, the disease had taken hold, and her voice had become digital, like the rest of them, she looked at him with real eyes for the last time, blinked, and her pupils turned into static.
These days, we miss the sound of birds, there was a squeaky wheel on our wheelbarrow, Justine thought it was the cries of a baby blue jay or something, maybe a robin, she was so sad to find out the truth.
We decided that our tears should be used as drinking water, Paul has created a method to extract the salt, I happen to like the taste.
Ink is as valuable as gold used to be, before the great war and flood that occurred right after, washing away everything, back then gold was some kind of holy object, now it's a weapon at best, a heavy blunt weapon, but ink, to stain a piece of paper, or perhaps a wall, eternal.
So many lonely letters waiting to be delivered to nowhere
![HostessFromHell's profile picture. ''There is no rest for the wicked, and there are no tears for creatures of the night.'' [AHS: Hotel RP| AU | MV | 21+ |#Vices]](https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/1930006777208123392/qt3Le08D.jpg)
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