haydenomero:

Hello and I’m sorry. A salutation and a farewell. I don’t have much time. These times through loneliness can fly through my fingertips like a plague of moths. The hollowed, black, littered shells crunched into the ground like the skin in a cicada. This is all that’s left, you can do whatever you want with it. Keep it to yourself, or let it serve as a warning. The city is disgusting; a corpse of what it used to be. The people are filthy, gluttonous, ruled by the power exchange of sex from the hands of the proletariat to the bourgeoisie. The tops of the skylines buzz with a lackluster enthusiasm. The ground level is caked in dirt and rust and grime and the people that dwell there wake and rub the filmy layer off their lukewarm eyes. There are some here I love. Some who fear me and some who wish I was dead. I didn’t ask for this. No one asks for this, you’re born into it. You grow up oblivious and sheltered and one day the evil realities of this place hit you square between the eyes like a perfectly aimed bullet. If this were a movie I’d ride off into some blood-red sunset down a stretch of desert road into the wasteland that keeps us captive here. But this isn’t a movie. 

t h e s e   a r e   t h e      b a d l a n d s .