Alex Pritchard Y2 - I Could Never

Hot, burning, searing, an ocean of the planet's blood stirred deep within. A red hissing, a rising crackling, and a slow slurping of pure pain incarnate crawling down a path of incandescent rocks. Falling apart. Failing to keep control.

Break free. Break free, oh bitterness, break free and end the world in flames, burn it to the core, leaving less than space dust.

It will never emerge. Nothing to burn. Never was, never will be. Spin the Earth on a surface of cold, blue ice. Look at the rocks, black and charred, a wasteland of worthlessness. Touch them, feel their smoothness, feel their roughness. Draw up a deck chair, put up a parasol, sit anywhere you like and bathe under the idyllic midday sun. Sip on a wet glass of butternut squash, watch. Watch as pain turns to rock, turns to sand, turns to water, turns to clouds, turns to rain, turns to snow, turns to ice, turns to pain once more.

Nice weather we're having, isn't it?