Each cause is lost,
drowned in satellite waves of radio,
buried somewhere behind
the crystal gleam of the plasma screen.

My love and I sat sidelined,
watched all our friends
aim to be different in all the same ways,
the standardization of the soul,
it's unclear if anyone can cut the seams.

Try,
we will.

Die,
we will.

Trudging through the barren wasteland
of busted marble statues,
bleeding artistic antiquity.
Starving stray dogs,
just her and me.

The vultures will circle,
the sirens will sing pop songs,
teenagers will be settling divorces,
and our heads will scream, carniverous, cancerous.

Try,
we will.

Die,
we will.

But with my love's hand in mind,
I feel no fright staring in the eyes of night.
I only dream of what beauty
we've already buried,
of what lives,
that never got lived.