#syn's words

[syntaria-writes]

You're his hero.

("Get him up get him on the bed get him off the floor!")

Body cooling in an undignified slump

Keep going. Keep trying. Keep finding reasons to live.

Spiraling into an echo of strength. Looking from side to side and seeing the ground pile higher around the hole.

He kept the fire going for you. One, two, steal another. Three, four, there goes the neighbour(hood). They cught him over the wheel. They're shaking him, screaming, crying, dad daddy waKe UP

He's going to follow you.

He's running and running and running after your shadow, too scared to stop, too lost to see the soot in his WAKE

UP ahead

He wants to make you proud. He wants to be you.

A corpse.

gone

[syntaria-writes]

Everyone has morals until it's been over 3 years since you've felt decent warm water pressure on stiff muscles and shampoo suds dripping lazily down your back

You can excuse so damn much when you have been deprived so long of what you used to consider the most basic of nessicities

If you had to choose between killing a stranger and soaking in a hot tub, the years of grime you'd only ever been able to scrub clean in stolen, frigid moments of a blood stained stream, who would kneel in surrender and who would hold the knife between their clenched teeth?

when you are offered a soft bed in fresh linens after forcing yourself to normalize the stiff rough canvas of a patchy jacket against the wind, would you hesitate to pull your gun against the stranger you only know through survival?

when you are tempted with a fire to dry your socks and molted boots, allowing a moment to let the heat burn away the bacteria of trench foot and slowly seep humanity back into your heart, do you allow the command to slit the strange changelings throat to weigh on your concious?

Your orders were only ever to survive, not to worry about the people being funelled deep down into the bunkers, as you are slowly, quietly embraced in a fascimile of comfort

[syntaria-writes]

"Is it wrong that I find this sexy,"

A hand resting on the back of my thigh

Creeping

Higher and higher to the edge of my skirt

(You were supposed to be safe

You chucked my chin higher up

Don't look down face the world

Be confident

Be brave)

"Is it wrong," and I am frozen

Face falling forward, falling down

Down

Down to hide?

Chin up with confidence face the world

(Why is this happening?

Are you testing me?)

A hand stretched wide and fingertips reaching

Nobody will have to know

It can be our secret

Is it so wrong?

(I'm still and quiet and screaming no please dont do this why is this happening no no NO)

A palm on fire

A moment stretched thin

A retracted hand

(Was I supposed to smile and beckon you closer?

In your mind did I spread my lips around you,

And let you crawl further between me?)

Is it wrong?l

(Yes)

That I find this

(Yes)

sexy?

(Yes)

How young was she when you let your hand skim lower and lower

What did you whisper into her crying ear

Why did you think i (so much older) would do anything but freeze (scared, so scared) and were you hoping (why would you ask that) that i would fight (i trusted you) or that I would smile?

("Sweden. I am Sweden. Neutral," like it was a war of equals, he said they said, "are you mad at me?" Plaintively asked, brain bleeding sluggishly, gathered for the dead, "i miss you").