Hell 22

Show us the bodies

Ripped apart by starving dogs

Littering the streets of Mariupol.

Everything drags on.

Bullet-time explosions.

I stare into a window.

The world becoming hell.

The collective deforming.

The end days laced with apathy.

I thought the finale would be

More exciting.

Perhaps we are penultimate.

And that is why

We’ve let ourselves go.

No one honestly believes

That there are seven generations left.

It’s hard to start a new degree.

Or fight to outlive poverty.

Dog with a coffee cup,

Coolest summer ever.

Never really wanted winter,

Anyways.