Inhumane [Poolverine]
Timelines and multiverses are something I thought I understood. I understood my consequences more than most, or so I thought.
My metal skeleton, encasing the meaty heart, the only real part of me, beating faster and aching with hundreds of years of reuniting and being torn again.
My heavy feet stood in one place, eyes locking in with his. I love seeing him without that heavy red fabric, his beautifully sculpted, beautifully mangled face.
That hard beating in my chest, the only thing reminding me that I am actively alive to a physical standpoint. I hate that feeling. Love is my worst enemy, the feeling never lasts for me.
I am not humanities favorite, and I know that.
I am lost in my own head, my own train of thought until the moment our eyes click apart. I am back in my own reality. This is what happens to doomed men like me.
I watch intently as he slowly wraps his own best creation back into that horrid, red, doomed mask.
He walks away, unmoving other than his feet.
I am not humanities favorite.
I never will be.