Are we alive and playing at being dead, or the other way around?
The act of destruction that is the world. The infinite falling that is the world. The plunging that is the world.
The slow death of the world. Agonising. And so slow.
The world’s never been as barren. As hollow. Everything we say just rings out, for no one to hear.
Our voices. Our pleading. Our desire to be saved, knowing that there is no salvation. Our desire to live, even though life is impossible in this world. In what they’ve done to this world.
And that’s the best of us: the best of what we are, that pleading. That prayer.
Work in Progress 