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Conspiring Against a Gravestone

Conspiring Against a Gravestone

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Jan 5, 2014
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Fiction
Horror
I suppose that death is not an easy subject. It’s not subtle and it’s most certainly not kind. If anything, it’s the equivalent of having your least favourite song playing on full blast all around you on a loop. You can feel every note in your body, changing the pace of your heart and making your joints dry, it becomes hard to breathe and you can’t even think properly anymore because every little bit of you is saying “make it stop”. But it doesn’t. If it did, it wouldn’t be death- it would be a scratch or a simple lack of inspiration. Death doesn’t really stop anything, not even life. The world carries on, a hint of beauty somehow always prevailing above the time that leaves us all in the ground. Death means nothing. I know that now.
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A place where true love expires, good people get fired and beings are nothing but dust. Where stalkers are heroes, society makes zeroes and madness is not in the crust. Some people are killers, and that's just the pillars of what is essentially rust. When you feel you are mad, but that isn't so bad in a world that is oh so unjust. They'll kill you by car, or from quite afar in a world where all life is fleeting. Don't try to protect, you'll just end up wrecked, for you know their hearts are not beating. They'll kill you my sweet, and not drop a beat, for my story is only just heating. Power means all, even more for the small, but power has a habit of retreating. The bodies mount up, many lives will breakup, as I'm here to just tell a story. Don't look in the hill, though it is quite a thrill, I've heard it can get quite gory. Don't play with the heart, and don't think you're too smart, or you'll die with none of the glory. All are mad from the start, but you played your part, in the world of pure purgatory. Alas look a ghost, be careful you're not toast, you must want to see what I see. Society is ruthless, protection is fruitless, for in madness is when you are free. Perfection is dead, from the wounds we all bled, a cruel fate we did not foresee. While outsiders are safer, if only by a wafer, you can still hear them utter a plea. Now my story is frightening, but oh so inviting, so come now and give it a whirl. I can promise some danger, so don't be a stranger, watch now - we will see it unfurl.

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