No mercy,

No violence,

Just ripped up skin

and bone.

Shells died laughing.

You sat here, crying?

As if burned up flames

weren’t enough.

Even spectators grew red,

Ignoring the view

that cannot exist.

To think we were standing parallel

the whole time.

Before now,

we had ended.

And our mark refused

to let us linger.

Imprints only worked,

to enforce our actions,

then let us start blind

after the epilogue.

Supposedly, chance is not a word

seeing as Nothingness critiques all.

And a question mark still dominates,

“Do you cry for the fact that it’s me,

or the fact that it’s you?”