slur your words,
as bottles pile onto bottles,
and the dreams you love,
have come to haunt me,
glowing orb,
orbiting around you,
keeping you away from the storm,
that pours from your mother's eyes,
about how her two lovers have died,
Her wailing drowned out,
over the buzzing beating plastic world,
created by by gones gone by,
of the greatest generation,
who died to produce,
the cubical living room,
we use to be gods,
on our virtual battle ground,
where we now stand,
face to face,
I stand with solidarity,
with your mother's loss,
climb into the life raft,
before the storm gets you,
and you drown in your flood gates,
that have rotten with filth,
you freely dump into your mind