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Trying to do long drawn-out sentences before homework because I'm bored and lonely and writing of sick things seems to help me escape.I know, I'm a creep

At the end of each long summer day, when the heat rises from the ground and escapes through the evening breeze, when the first stars appear in the sky, that is when the streets are owned by the dead. It is only at this time and when you are alone, that you can truly see that the ghostly streets are full of dead with their vacant eyes and black faces, save for a few that still bare the expression of deathly terror in their eyes. The usual smells of urine, gas and trash disappear in the air as the smell of corpses takes hold of you, reminding you that under the flesh, we are all but sacs of rotting meat, waiting for insects and germs to eat us up. It is only at this time and when you are alone looking at all the dead faces, thinking of who they once were, that you realise that the dead do not rise, they only fall.

As you look at their sunken cheeks and inanimate bodies, you think of all the times you were told that death is an ugly thing but to you this is a fallacy as everything around you, although dead and rotting, is beautiful. They say all things are all beautiful and nothing is more natural than death, it doesn't bring a tear to your eye, it doesn't make you feel empty and you wonder if that makes a bad person.