Wasteland

We are here. The great tempest has passed, the green has turned to sepia ash and the cattle are ribcage monuments in the burned pastures. Yet we are here.

Between rock and skyscraper skeleton a Geiger-waltz slowly abate. And the barren land will late forget man’s outrage. Neither will we forget, as we dot the wastes with our hollow eyed presence. How we huddle, how we weep. Dry sobs, a cry of those left to thirst.

No admittance, not for the likes of us. As we, the journeymen of genocide, diminish, the blind prophet proclaims the laws set to protect the divine sphincter and infernal void from us limbo scrappers. Eden finds us too tainted, spoiled meat left for sunny day flies. Gehenna considers us lukewarm and spews us out; telling us our abyss is man made.