Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world.

If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.

I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.

I feel an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation in my lips, tugging them upward. This is... new.

We eat and sleep and shuffle through the fog, walking a marathon with no finish line, no medals, no cheering.

My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.

I think we crushed ourselves down over the centuries. Buried ourselves under greed and hate and whatever other sins we could find until our souls finally hit the rock bottom of the universe. And then they scraped a hole through it, into some ... darker place.