The hubris of Man, to think we matter, that our acts or life have any worth I proclaim it rotten like so much mirth The poor get poorer, the rats grow fatter so spread not your lies, for I know better The Void left our values a still-birth We're cells further growing this cancer's girth climbing higher on a failing ladder
Thus let us burn, we don't deserve a knife let roam the terrors I dream of nightly, open Pandora's box now, loosen its clasp Let the End come now, there's no after-life it'd change nothing, most just stare on blankly And talk not of Love, it's out of my grasp
Spat this out onto my phone's memo on the bus about a year ago. Haven't written a full new sonnet in 15 months. Fear of blank paper or some ****.