HIGH TIME TO DO THINGS IN A POST-APOCALYPTIC WORLD ALONG WITH THE OTHER IMPORTANT STUFF AFTER THAT

G was sitting on the door steps of an ostentatious house in brown study with a leather knapsack. He used to be a vegan.

It was dusk... or dawn, nobody could tell anyway. How can they? After all they were all dead and long gone.

Finally G stood up and a hissing sound followed him. Soon the big, opulent house engulfed in a frenzy fire. It used to be a house of a rich father not his though, but he liked enacting roles very much. This is the only game he enjoyed the most in the world of which we know as of now.

P.S: Read it again while listening to Coldplay's Rush of blood to the head.

Blisters on the Palate

roof of my mouth  
there is blood up there 
bloody blisters all around, all over 
blisters on the palate  
bloody blisters on the roof of my mouth

can't swallow, can't eat 
can't help it, can't drink 
bloody blisters 
blisters on the roof of my mouth  

can't reveal'em 
can't see them either 
they are like spies 
they are like spikes 
they are like a ghost of a loved one haunting you in malice 
they are blisters on the palate 
they are on the roof of me mouth 
bloody blisters on the palate  

bloody bastards 
illegitimate, illegal, illicit sons of bad karma 
can't love them, can't kill them 
just can wait for them to pass away 
like a whore wait for a callous customer to depart 
can't claim them either 
don't count as war scars you see 
No honor, No shame 

bloody blisters
blisters on the palate of my mouth