Author Information
Wasteland. (READ DESCRIPTION FIRST!)
Dear God, my former home, and a society lost.
I'm curled up here forever lost, my eyes glossed my body bitten by frost, I can barely breathe the air out here, in our nuclear polluted atmosphere, I wasn't prepared to go out there, the men out here fight without care.
Who am I to blame them really? These men who tried to kill my on my arrival, they're just doing what they must for survival, whether they stalk the dark or fight for a tribe, we're all lonely souls out here in our strive.
Somehow now it all seems distant, as I'm pushed out of the ruins like a piston, so many wounds I can't even list them, hungry and tired in need of assistance, but it's a cold world out here if you listen, for these children of dark, the devil kissed them.
Scuttling in the gloom is your eventual doom, creatures birthed from hell's womb, keep your wits about you or this world's coffin will be your tomb, don't fret my child of the apocalypse, for that cursed fallout will corrupt past your lips.
You think you're some kind of tough guy? You think you can take a hit from all this shit? Well here's the truth son, no matter what you try you're done, so you'd better try and flee, grab your gun, and run run run!
After hours of trekking you'll find your last bedding, an empty clip and a broken hip, a busted arm, a cut up lip, whatever your wound you'll go out in terror, for in these wastes you can't hope for much better.
I try to think back to a time when there was hope, my journey fresh and filled with prospect, but now I'm an errand boy, an object, people will use you, chew you, abuse you, and after a while you'll turn vile, unable to trust in this radioactive pile.
Yours sincerely: A man out of time, a lone stalker, a poor man from the tunnels.
AkulaTHEPoet - 3/6/16
