Suffering Greed

When the sun falls,
I'll be dancing on graves,
thumbing my nose at God,
and embracing the cold that falls from Jesus' shoulder.
I'll no longer need
this razor blade.
I won't be able to spell
regret,
and I'll leave what's left
on fate's nail riddled doorstep.
All questions will
dissipate,
thoughts won't race and
answers will cry for attention.
The tears of the world
won't be enough,
to put out the fire
that we exacerbated,
with our search for
more
oil.
When nothing is said
and all is not done,
you will find me
wrapping Christmas lights
around the last
sunset.
Giving hope to
no one,
rescuing incongruous clouds,
nothing left behind
but another superficial
vigil
overlooked by entropy.
No one to build a memorial wall,
no one to tweet
"our thoughts and prayers,"
no one left in Hollywood
to capitalize on the blood
of others.
Just a planet
that destroyed itself,
with the dying need for
MORE.




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