Tears upon burnt pages quench the flames beyond time's comprehension.
Utter devastation tastes so woefully divine.
Place the paper platters face-down lest the battered beasties mention
something yet unknown to me, yet also truly mine.

Cramped, I think, I felt so cramped, stuck spaciously between two corners.
Painful in a mental sense, but physically unscathed.
Ruptured tetrahedrons spread a message known to few informers,
governments sent crumbling by the grassroots of today.

Epsilon command sent out another suicidal mission,
destination overclocked to speak a titan's tale.
Suddenly, the ruskies think they own the key to taming fission.
Foolish in their eagerness, the safety measures fail.

Recognition sends the suits into a soon-seditious spiral.
Ugliness, in vogue, becomes the newest game to play.
Rapture in an abstract sense, oh joy to those in moments final;
tempted by a concept for which sanity must pay.