When darkness falls, wraps the world in confusion and unexplainable horror, when truth slips away and the real becomes incomprehensible, so the ghouls appear, blacker than the darkness they breathe, to feed on the misery and lavish their hate on wild accepting eyes. The ghouls glide and swoop, terraforming hate with imaginary ravines, distorting, raising mountains to obscure the light, so they might forget they too once had a soul, they too were once eight. Too late now, so they must feast while they can, while the darkness holds, for it doesn’t hold for long. Starved, they are nothing. Light.
**
Don’t feed, engage, acknowledge the trolls. Thoughts with those whose children didn’t come back from a pop concert. x
Just Punch The Clock 