illusion festers at the altar of apathy we sacrifice our intellect for luxury items woe-filled slaves chained to hypocrisy
if this is what grows in the absence of thought—weeds spread out to choke all semblance of hope—sew my eyelids to my scalp i'll sleep no more no nightmare is more terrible than this reality we must endure
stretched out across this wasteland we built temples to worship finance bathed in our own arrogance we fancied ourselves gods through deicide and accepted the inheritance that gave us such a throne
measure out the violence in Biblical proportions spread like fire to every corner of the globe cover the map in a sea of ash and smoke white phosphorous raining from the sky like manna on all the forgotten children anguishing in third-world exile
we are the arbiters of our own demise drunken bloated ignorant harbingers reviled for our revelry of orgastic negativity plunging the Earth into the sixth extinction that surely spells the end of our finite kind
some sentient race may yet witness our only home caught in the death-grip of its sole intellectual organism as life ebbs from her lonely pale blue eyes winking in and out of existence from hundreds of lightyears far far away
no telling whether such a recollection viewed through the chasm of space-time might offer a mirror to some species possessed of less self-destructive tendencies devoid of suicidal mentalities a warning sign to all the legions spread across the galaxy: