I am the apocalyptic girl:
The blood along my thin hands and frame flow cold and absolute as I walk amongst this baron land, I see people on their knees praying to their gods, I look up hoping that they’d come down with a hand and help them as they prophesy states, so I can slit the wrist of the helping hand itself, so that I can bathe and taste the blood of their beloved Savior, and watch the minds of their worshipers minds and bodies crumble like the lands they inhabit.
