the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flower pot is dead and cracked and quiet, and it's steaming, baking hot the dark red flower pot lies empty and unused the seeds that used to lie in it were x-rayed 'til they bruised then pop-pop-popped like popcorn, like the fireworks and guns that sprayed the world with pesticide, that coated nature's lungs as i walk through the alley of the shadow of death i'm human and unbeing as i draw my last breath it smells like the safety of gunpowder and bombs like the laughter of kids screaming and the slaughter of songs the walking dead surround me, but they think they're alive as they shamble through the broken-mirrored halls of their hive they only see themselves, so i'm not sure if i'm real i don't know where i came from and i don't know what to feel i think i might be floating, might be drowning, migh...
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