The Lonely

In the belly of the night we fled, leaving the light switches dripping with blood. They would find their end in a flicker of red magic, ballooning against perspective. We took our flight hand in hand to the very edge of the horizon and further into the darkness. The world crumbled behind us in a haze of azure mist, and as we walked we met misfortune and the lazy penetration of death.

I could never find your eyes, engorged from the loss of life; we stumbled forward blind into the last nightfall, a picture of red and green, of beauty and of murder. We walked for a thousand years, emaciated smiles forced into the ground staring at the darkening stars. We were hungry, but consumed by loss and confusion. Anaesthesia wrapped our minds and prevented collapse. The tug of your hand was meaningless and whole.

I swallowed my hair and clawed at my skin and tasted the very last of civilisation. The passing of all ruinous and unbearable. Sorrow rose in my throat and howled at the empty realm. The bones broke in your feet and I drained the blood from our throats.

We held hands on the crux of oblivion and wept as we kissed goodbye for the final time; an epitaph of love found in our shadows, cast for miles. Time passed by our thoughts and blanketed our bodies with ash. We had never existed at all.