This world is going to hell.

I dreamt of a land that when you called 911 you had to listen to advertisements before being connected to an operator. The American dream has turned us into consumers before tragedies. It was 15 seconds of blood trickling down through my fingers and onto the floor. I watched my reflection grow in red, until a cold, empty voice interrupted me on the other end of the line. A few nights ago I drove past an empty lot, we stopped beside it at a red light, and despite being gone I could still see what stood there; its image haunting me with memories that were never created within it. I do this to myself a couple of nights a week. I stare out the window on my way to a place I didn’t care to be, but it was better than not being somewhere at all. A place where I knew what was to happen, no matter my internal objections. We would kiss and touch, hands moving and pushing closer until there would be no space. The heat from our heavy breathing would warm us until we melted together as one. The unsaid promises, to not let it get this way, were far from my mind as we moved in a rhythm. Every part of me yearned for us to never leave this place; I didn’t want to know the rest of the world when I was wrapped up in him. The creation of something leads to the destruction of another. We had created a safe place where I could be happy, which lead to the destruction of me if it fell apart, when it fell apart.