I rake my fingers through the dusty air,
And run my hands through my sweaty hair.
The storm clouds gather in the east,
A looming mass waiting for me to leave.
I know not where to go,
For I was supposed to die long ago.
An effigy of God wandering the land,
As boots and bones decay in the shifting sands,
Of time and of earth and of the passing of all things living.
They destroyed the world,
They said "let freedom reign,"
And now, I stand.
Acid rain drips down my face.
The clods of blood ripple and race,
Forming puddles and pools in the mountains and valleys of pores.
They race across the forests of tiny hairs that alight on humans and bears.
The clods of blood, streaming from eyes damaged by the horrors they have seen
Even ripple through the sweetest dreams.
And those dreams may remain sweet,
But so also are they sticky, with the vitality of destroyed life.