Yeah, I don't know. I wrote this on an old typewriter right before it disfunctioned and never worked again, but I thought maybe I could put it here just because I didn't feel like posting another poem. It's sort of...apocalyptic? I'm not sure if that's the right word to describe it. Anyway, I welcome comments/constructive critisism/anything. So here it goes: Outside the window, decades of decay showcase themselves like suffering animals in desplay cages. Cracks in the pavement of a collapsing sidewalk let out a strong stench of old toxicity. Vapors - no - columns of smog float up into the the air and form clouds of dark and unnatural rain. This city reeks of loss...loss of life, loss of love, loss of emotion. - emotion- Through my window, my small gateway into the outside world, I can hardly see through the deathly pollution. I can barely breathe - I dare you to breathe out there. The buildings are burning, burning into the ground. Animals, everything is slowly dying. We are in this together, this group effort...teamwork makes it all possible. Possibilities are endless, endless is death. Manifest Destiny has ripped into the slowly-stopping heartbeats of the weak-minded. Tearing through the countryside, we dig ourselves a shallow grave. The last of our lives can be seen floating along the bottoms of veins in the flattening ridges, the translucent rivers. We're going further, further into the depths of our hills and further into the pits of our minds to find more space for useless billboards, and more people than we can tolerate...does it ever end? Our leaders, dictators, rulers: "This peace is in the palm of our hands." And to the slaves and prisoners of their own minds, "The revolution will go unherard, unseen, unknown." The signs are here, just look and you will see the dark at the end of the tunnel...the hole at the end of the slow steady decline...WE ARE MONSTERS! We are the monsters, we are the aliens, we are the anticipated catastrophe. We are what we are so afraid of. But what are we so afraid of? Do we fear the end? Do we pity ourselves? Fight for your cause; your cause is lost in the struggle to stay alive. Must we be our own worst nightmares? Unavoidable, unstoppable, suffocating the generations to come with what we leave behind. Is this necessary? Slowly, words lose their meanings, and feelings disappear into dust. Expression is decintegrating along with love, hate fulfillment, despair, everything...it all melts and dries into ashes. ...ashes...ashes... ...we all fall down......