When the skies turn black,
I won’t look back
to see the stampeding hordes.

I’ll raise up my arms
and sound the alarms,
while the blood of humanity pours.

I won’t just give in
to mortal sin,
as the world crumbles to ash.

I’ll keep out of sight,
from celestial light—
paranoia spills out with a splash.

The smell of decay,
as they stumble away,
will do nothing to calm my nerves…

Alive, but just barely—
I will try to carry
the enchanted tome of lost words.

Hands to the sky,
I’ll look out and cry;
a witness to all it consumes.

It feasts and it lurks,
yet my magical quirks,
won’t slow the creeping doom.

So, when the sky’s torn,
the planet will mourn;
my hands will weave through the air—

I’ll mumble goodbyes,
while everything dies,
trying to vainly escape my despair.

∼ Lydia Prime

© Copyright Lydia…

Five-fingered Footprints
Lee Andrew Forman

Blood draws my story on the agate floor. Fresh ink covers dried layers with the repetition of time. My five-fingered footprints scatter across my canvas, for within the cold box there is no room to stand. My freedom, nothing more than an arm’s length in any direction. Slight rumbles shiver the enclosure; new paint will be added soon. I’ve never seen the thing that keeps me here. Only felt its scathing, intimate touch on my naked flesh. The floor tells me it will soon be time. My body trembles as I await the inevitable approach of the stippler.

Witness
Nina D’Arcangela

As he adjusted the range, the minute clicks were barely distinguishable from the constant drone. I could see the look of shock and something akin to terror on his face as he stepped back and stared at me as if to question his own…