Some worlds were made out of an accident. A scientist misread his handwriting and spilled more of the solution than he should down the drain. A sea swallowed the dose and creatures all over drunk the unholy antidote. Some worlds were made just to be and their existence is not certified but that doesn’t mean that I can’t feel them expand and contract in my subconscious.
Such a world exists in me and sometimes the battle I fight with all the elements is enough to widen the cracks between here and there.
Some worlds have colors and fairy-tales but this one, this one has the walls and the sky of a futuristic slaughterhouse that only allows for severed realities and a monochromatic spectrum only distorted from the color red. Red as the blood that pumps the hearts of the creatures that be.
Some worlds have heroes to guide the faceless mass through a better tomorrow, however the world I am talking about believes not in blindingly putting its faith on just about anybody other than one’s self. The creatures were scattered about to fight the fight and walk the talk each one on its own quest towards one’s completion.
The creatures are scared in this world. They fear the white sun will betray them since they know that it is safer in the dark. They fear that maybe they won’t find this that they seek before the slaughter-man finds them.
And I am scared of this world I sometimes find solace in. I am scared I won’t find this that I seek before the slaughter-man finds me.