Prophecy
by : epiphanies
When the sky is crisp and blue - well, violet, but we can't see that. When the cement scrapes your knee, my elbow. When the darkness comes and the moon is silver and the stars are crying. When the blood springs from my tongue and paints the white of your eyes, and when the stones finally begin to crumble.
The world will end prettily, if I am with you. If your hand will touch mine and the ocean will sing.
The tears will become rain, and splash the decayed streets with a static, mourning patter. The red sun will fade and the diamonds will become coal. The streetlights will go out, one by one, and my voice will be the last to call your name.
The ashes will caress your skin and the doors will fall away until the world is open and hot and over. There it shall sit, without you, without I, and maybe it will prosper. Maybe it will grow.
We shall never know.
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End