Empty

There's a unspoken agreement between eyes. Sad faces accomplices of smaller ignored tragedies.
Slow life long crimes. Bullets flying in the dead of day. In the pale light. In front of us. Inside of us.

No longer bricks. Grains perhaps. Rushing towards the unthinkable. Billions of perfectly grotesque plain white snow flakes. All for one. No. It's cheaper now. All for nothing.

So we reach. So we grab. So we punch. So we stab. So we see. We're still blood and guts inside. We're still animals. We're still living things. We'll turn into vampires. At the sight of the old holy red water we'll suddenly go thirsty. The thirst a million bottled everythings could not kill. We're animals. We're living creatures.

We're not the chosen ones. But we have a choice.