disclaimer: I own nothing except the poem. How many times do I need to say that? XD

I just refound this poem when I was rereading my journal (wow, so much perusing). I can't remember its inspiration...but I don't really think I want to know. Anyway, I figure that it would make a good Zim opening...so yes. I wanted to write a SHORT story to the poem...so I did. Get over it. I also believe in giving, and am writing this for Dark Enchanter, who's stories are quite the psyche thrill. I've already spoken of him, but that you also need to get over. Enjoy!

Once again, Dib-centric. Because we all love an angsty, crazed Dib.

lyrics

thoughts

Another Night

I sleep soundly this night as the world slowly turns

On the ruins of modern day and what is left to burn.

I see you sitting on a broken concrete step

As you harvest your dreams, the feelings of death.

The new rain comes to create useless mud,

But to your horror mixes with his blood.

But still I see in all of the confusion

We are not realeased from God's illusion.

Now at another black night I stare

As I welcome you to this newest nightmare.

Dib's POV

I looked out his wondow, and thought about the events that had been recently unfolding this week. Zim hadn't been around in awhile. I don't really want to say that I'm worried persay...but concerned to the fact that he might have finally made a working plan to destroy the earth. That's it.

I wonder if he just gave up. Did someone upset him? I mean...it saves me the trouble. Now to work on talking to myself. At least it's not out loud...or is it? Can anyone actually hear me? Or have I become so paranoid that I only talk to myself to break said paranoia...? God, maybe I am going crazy...

Talking to myself hasn't been much of a problem without Zim around. But my dreams to dissect Zim, photograph him in his Voot Cruiser, photograph Gir, show the world Zim's X-Rays of his Squeedilyspooch, and everything else that I could ever possibly think of to expose him. And when did I start calling Zim a boy? Why did Iultimately assume that Irkens had genders? Yes, Tak did seem more feminine than Zim, and was considered a girl, but did only personalitites dictate that? Or do the "cold, unfeeling, robot arm" parental units decide that?

Have to stop thinking about useless things like Zim's gender...or whatever it is. There are more important things to do, like showing the world that I am not crazy. Because I'm not. The Swollen Eyeballs think I'm not...right? Whatever, have to focus.

Third Person POV

He packed up his camera and a gun, and made the relatively short trek to Zim's house. Dib opened the door to a seemingly empty house. The elevator underneath the side table in the living room was open, a rare occasion. He jumped down the shaft into a large lab with the largest computer moniter in the house. Zim was stitting in a chair, and he appeared to be studying some diagrams on the screen.

Dib made his way to Zim's chair. He appeared to be sleeping, eyes closed and antennae drooping. He smiled at the broken down alien, who apparently had been there for a very long time: a half empty glass of water by his side, and an open book before him...

Water...water...

Didn't water posion Zim?

Out of a concern buried deep below him, he felt for Zim's pulse. Nothing. He tried awaking him by pouring a drop of water onto his head. Still nothing. He also realized that he wasn't breathing.

Zim was dead.

Dib's POV

I should have been excited. I should have taken pictured and dissected him at that very moment. My enemy was dead, and I was unhappy. My enemy was dead, and I was crying.

There are too many things that were wrong with what was happening. I was crying over my enemy, not laughing, crying in my happiness, not doing anything to rejoice in any way. But I was crying, for all things. What was wrong with me? Was that why I jumped?

I knew Zim had a death machine, or at least thats what I called it. The moment I stepped in, I knew I was dead, with no return to the outside world. There is nothing left for me to do.

Taking off my shoe, I threw it at the button that turned on the machine. I missed the first time, and threw my other, hitting the target. I smiled to myself as it tore me apart, and laughed as I felt the all-too-familiar feeling of warm blood dripping down from my chest to my stomach, and less familiar in other places. The whirring knives opened my self-inflicted chest wounds and one hit my heart, I think.

That's okay. Because I think my heart was broken anyway.

So as I sleep soundly as the world slowly turns

On the ruins of modern day and what is left to burn.

I myself sit on a broken concrete step

And harvest my dreams of darkened death.

The new rain comes to create more mud,

But to no horror mixes with my blood.

But still I see in all of the confusion

I will never be realeased from God's illusion.

Now at another black night I stare

As I welcome myself to true death's nightmare.

I hope you all like my twist of my poem at the end. Very deathy. R and R. Flames shall be used to better it.