Fields turn to concrete turns to buildings turn to cities turn to dust. Everything in this world is finite. **** or be killed. We are malignant cells multiplying and dividing, incurable, unstoppable. Where we go, death and destruction follow. They're right behind us, pushing to get ahead.

All we touch turns to stone, a grave marker for the earth. We are burying ourselves with it. Ashes and bones are the thrones of the new world. We don't learn from our mistakes, we build upon them.

There is a thirst that cannot be quenched, a hunger that cannot be satisfied. We devour everything in sight, but remain empty. If this is what it means to be human, I'd rather be the mud stuck on the bottom of a shoe, the trash blowing away with the wind, the roadkill abandoned on the side of a highway.