spades: something personal
king: meaning, magic, love
2 on the die: this writing is public
[a plea, to become a prayer for those seeking a balm to agony.]
i sit amongst the trees and listen to them whisper their words to me.
the air is cold, and it smells of rain. the new gods walk this world, but here i am hidden from them. here, it is cold.
the sparks don’t catch flame any longer. i wish they would.
i sit under a tree with red falling leaves and watch the world end. i wonder why i have to watch it alone. it’s peaceful and lonely. i don’t know if i would take the loneliness for the peace, or if i would rather there be a community here to keep me warm.
the sky is shattered into oranges and reds and colors i cannot even see. i don’t know why anyone is bothering to protect this place anymore. i don’t understand why anyone would want to destroy it. isn’t it enough overrun as it is? isn’t this enough?
none of this matters any longer, not without the sun in the sky and the warmth of our fires. not with these chains binding us to a ravaged world. i beg whoever may be listening now to spare us this suffering. you cannot break our chains— i don’t think anyone alive could, now— but at least let us rest.
