I can see the future.
It's not a happy foresight.
Dead.

I dream about it every night.
It's not a nice dream.
A nightmare.


Massive constructions made of concrete and steel.
Grey giants moulding the cities.
No colour, only the cold colours of illuminated signs - eyestabbing sabers of light.
You can't see the naked soil, no plants, no sky.

People have no presence, wandering around spiritless -
Controlled by the artificial intellgence they once created,
People themselves are nothing but copies of their past,
Built-in in this huge system of nothing.

You know too much? You die.

The sky is always crying about the lost planet.
Tears in the form of raindrops fall on the city all the time.


Sometimes in my nightmares
a butterfly appears out of nowhere.
Just a small, white one.
A fragile piece of hope fluttering through the dark future.