[b][u]Prelude to the Apocalypse[/u][/b] 

Open your eyes
Stare into the void of the night
The stars in the sky blink as you watch
And the void stares back

The wind whips your face
Grains of sand scratching at your skin
You close your eyes
You blink

Just for a moment
While your vision dark
The sky changes
The moon smiles

In victory, the wind howls
A cold laugh to the ears
Another fool has lost the game
The game of locking eyes

Beyond the horizon
With a thunderous roar
Lightning strikes the parched earth
A storm is approaching
You smile with the moon
A smirk that makes your lips curl
And you laugh with the wind
While the world ends

You couldn’t be happier
[hr]
[u][b]I don't even own a typewriter.[/b][/u]

Musty paper resting in portrait.
Dull on the eyes.
Mundane.

Metal rods and buttons, unused.
Cold on the fingertips.
Uninviting.


Thick curtain of stale air.
Dusty on the tongue.
Uncomfortable.

Dried spiral of ink.
Acrid on the nose.
Useless.

Dingy, old margin bell.
Sharp on the ears.
Irritating.

Old typewriter.
Obsolete. 
Thank you.