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Coming Blanket of Ashes.

Hope has been snuffed
out, stepped on, ground
into the dirt.

No one
could convince
me otherwise,
I’m afraid.

Never wanted this.
My eyes are stained.
It makes me sick.

Lifetimes have left me terrified.
Empathy, it helps save me some time.
Suggestions everywhere, or so I find,
of our hellbent penchant

for suicide, cosmos-wide.
At any rate,

any promising plan
must take action, manifest
as the rise of the Phoenix now.

The only fertile
grounds are to be found
in the coming blanket of ashes.

There can be no
stopping this.
Please: prove
me wrong.

So you swallow
this bitter pill whole,
something inebriating
to wash it down.

This world
around you, it’s all over,
though I know you will only go
waste more energy and time.

Even so, just watch:
you will stop
before the point
of no return.

Even now
you ready your seeds
for the aftermath,
for in truth, in the end,
you know damned well
it is your only real chance.

This ship? Clear to see
it’s going down.


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