Boston,
Covered in radioactive dust,
After the bomb went off,
Home,
Now mangled and taken back by nature,
A field of memories left to rot.
The man on the radio waves sometimes cries between songs,
They accompany your own,
And you feel like you can't even go on,
But,
At least you know you aren't alone.
******* down rads everytime you breathe,
But the water will **** you,
Fight back the urge to dry heave,
This world is so old,
Yet it's so new.
People come and go,
The metal man,
Reporter,
Paladin,
And more,
They're always there if you need them though,
And try to help you settle your score.
Strangers lurk around every bend,
People in black with hidden faces and orders from the monster under the bed,
Ghouls with their minds long gone meet you at every dead end,
Its man versus machine,
And everyone wants the other dead.
Spies report to the big brother,
And by morning,
Their targets vanish into the night,
Friends, family, even lovers,
Gone without a sight,
Children go to bed without a kiss goodnight,
People live in fear that they won't see morning's light.
They'll split your pretty cranium the more that you know,
Fleeing to the north won't work cause they'll just send out a clone,
No one to stand up,
No revolucion,
Just you,
An electric toad,
And the fear of the unknown.
A poem about Fallout 4. Love the nuclear wasteland.