The world’s gone mad,
Only one can save the insanity.
He feels the world’s sickness flow through him,
Like a virus invading his body.
He strives for sanity.
Cities will become dust,
After the cure.
Towns will become haunted,
After the cure.
Shadows will be scorched into the floor,
After the cure.
Puddles of red,
Puddles of grey,
Puddles of plastic of the children’s play things.
There will be little survival,
Surviving on little,
The floral patterns of their shirts etched into their skin.
The voices of their former society echo in their ears.
Charred ancestors,
Instant fossils.
Welcome to a future museum piece, of a savage era.
After the cure.
After the one.
After the saviour.
After the hero.
After the bomb,
The world will have gone M.A.D.
Mutually Assured Destruction.

“I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.” – Oppenheimer