A.M.S.L

My name is Merus Superstes, and it is the year 2232, by my closest approximation; I’ve not seen another person in four years. That last person I saw died in my arms under the influence of a fast infecting, very contagious, and very lethal disease. The entire population of the earth was wiped clean by this disease and only I survived the plague due to an unusual factor that I had in my possession either through a freak mutation in my genetics or that I acquired at sometime in my life, be it accidental or for purpose. The place I now stand used to be quite active with various kinds of people. While traveling down the empty corridors of shopping malls, restaurants, houses and trekking through vast acres of overgrowth that used to take the shape of parks and front yards, streets and cities, you sometimes wonder if you see a person standing in the shadows, or climbing through the trees. It may seem like people are still walking around breathing and learning and socializing, but the mute truth that I face every single day is this: That I am alone. Completely and utterly alone. Alone in a world that has forgotten the caresses of civilization and now embraces the wild and chaotic forces of nature.

 There are no humans, there is only the whispering of wild beasts sneaking around, waiting for their chance to strike. The beasts cannot strike at me however, for I am the last living man, and I will not falter so easily in the face of death, I will not fall victim to despair for I must be strong in the face of annihilation. I am a learned scholar in this world of violence and strength, calm and weakness. I have learned the weaknesses of all humans before my time, and through my time, and also the weaknesses of that which I face. What I face every day that has turned me into a hardened, unemotional shell of what I once was you may learn, for soon the answer to that question will come to you. There is no longer need of modesty, style, gentleness, hygiene, or emotion, there is only the constant drive to survive in a world that is in constant change from constant battles. The terrain is forever unknown to me, as well as the time. The reason being that both change, and change constantly. Why people used to dwell on those particular matters I still do not understand though I admit I used to be slave to these factors too. “I am going be late for school” I used to say or I would get chills walking down a street I wasn’t particularly used to traversing. Do I quit because of the meager encumbrances of time and place or of the confusion that wraps itself around me at all times, threatening never to surrender its grasp upon my conscience? Do I break down in the face of my never-ending suffering from inner thought, speculation and struggle to survive in such a forgotten world? No, I do not. I press on and fight all obstacles that get in my way.

Every single animal brave enough to try and overcome my superior mental and physical strength and strategy has only met an unfortunate but appreciated demise as it is slaughtered and used for warmth or food or both. I am the only surviving man left (as far as I know) and the world is my enemy. So hard I think every moment about surviving and minor distractions that I imagine myself being a great machine traveling the world and slaying things with sheer willpower and cunning.  I ask of you, what would you do in my situation, your family killed by an invisible and silent enemy. Every person you’ve taken a liking to or desire for killed and left to rot. What methods would you employ to survive? 

Well then, after a long fight over recovering my account due to my forgetfulness, i can finally begin to type again, because i' m tired of this thing sitting here and becoming (virtually) dusty and covered with cobwebs. So i should like to welcome you back to read about me.

 Alright, now that i have decided to study the posting options, i can try and make this more fluid, here is yet another poem that i wrote, and was wondering your thoughts on it.

 The Cult

Hast thou yet heard of The Cult? Oh? Thou haven’t? Please sit… allow me to explain.

The cult, a mysterious allegiance, walks through the nights silently,

With an attitude so apathetic and dark that townspeople question their humanity,

I am myself a very assiduous individual, and followed them, yet knew nothing,

But why did I study so closely? Because of the archaic nature of the collective,

I had often seen a purple and glowing apparatus carried by the “priests”,

It made me curious about the practiced religion, because I am ascetic,

Thus I devised a plan, that I hath enforced, to become assimilated,

So I thusly met with their noble arbiter, watched by his peers, at a peculiar boulder,

Where the multitude had collected and watched me with burning amethyst eyes,

I told him of my wishes and his glowing eyes glared at me with apprehension…

He then turned his back to me and cried out his arbitrary decision to the horde,

To sacrifice me to their deity and make me as they were, yet different.

The glowing hourglass was brought before my eyes and it glowed brighter, as if excited,

My soul fell into it and I met the hellion, who licked at my essence with an arid tongue,

Claiming that I was an arable source for his power to thrive upon,

Whilst he reached into my chest and pulled out my life source,

And held it aloft above his maw…and let it drop.

I changed then, my eyes became overwhelmed by an infernal flame as did my body,

And in an instant, it all stopped, and I knew I was one of the brethren, except bloodless,

It did not feel alien to me and I felt wondrously alive, though I was dead in some fashion,

Yet I have lived many a century, which may be a mere assertion of folly.

The Ending Of April

I suppose to start this thing off, i should post a short narrative, rather a poem, that i created for a Mrs. coulter in my sophomore year of high school. enjoy and try to guess what the poem is about.

So here I sit, in my living room, contemplating April’s end,

The saturnine feelings within me I cannot mend,

Outside of my window it looks as if a typhoon were raging,

With rivulets of cold water running down it bloating.

Trying to battle my emotions is a Sisyphean effort,

Which takes away all my will to exert,

From my stereo terpsichorean music arises,

It reaches a stentorian crescendo which surprises.

Music is tiring and I switch on the television,

            To a court show with a solon and a bailsman,

The sphinx of a judge sits there waiting,

As the opposing forces begin their battling.

How boring, I think, and read the newspaper full of vileness

            Some new grime on a siren of an actress,

Rumor had it she caught some diseases,

            That once spread, created some cheeses,

It was of the venereal type,

            The disease that created this hype,

Perhaps it was also terminal in action,

It is an outcome with no satisfaction.

Such the life of a thespian can be,

And to this anybody will agree.

This too, soon loses its touch, and I listen to the city outside,

            And to the bar below with its satyrs safely inside,

The time has come for my appointment,

            As I cautiously leave the apartment.

The sky is stygian in origin,

            I’m walking among the vermin.

The walk for me is titanic

            The looks of people make me panic,

A crazy man on the corner shouts sibylline praises,

            But all I hear are farces,

I listen still to his tantalizing views,

            That is, until he starts talking bad about the Jews.

I pass by the fence,

 And I can feel the suspense,

At this event I venerate,

            It would seem I’m a bit late,

She herself looks vestal in that dress,

            Almost like a princess.

A zephyr passes by my face,

            I feel slightly out of place,

But continue where I am standing

            As the reverend continues his babbling,

The ceremony ends and tears burst forth like a volcano,

            I remain standing and watch the guests go,

And when safe I walk toward the patch of dirt,

            And ask for forgiveness trying to be curt.

When my deed is done I leave her lying where she was left,

            All of my past sins are now bereft,

I walk away trying not to offend,

            And I leave my dear sister April, to her end.