Well it's red, the sky, the look in my eyes, the smell of the world and the way a day dies. You touch a warm stone, the air acrid, the memories aswirl. People, places, time, it races by, tomorrow a shining glint, a promising throne. I want to believe what's done lately isn't the ultimate, that the heroes you know don't just drain a can and crush it lazily in the hand, yet this is thus and I don't understand.
I miss simpler times, when I could pretend, a maw without teeth, a smile that didn't mean a desire for something other than innocent pleasure or making friends.
Trench coat, gun, hackles up, slavering, the taste of bone. Home is death, Tails Alone. Not a kid anymore. No. Time to quit the wall of innocence, taste blood. Flesh and prose.