It’s the end of the world as we know it, or maybe want it,
this insane wish-fulfillment we constantly seek in order that we won’t grow old
and die alone.
No nuclear disaster this time, at least, not yet, but more
subtle, we breathe too deeply, expelling fumes that will cause the seat to rise
and so promise we will drown or meet fate through some storm inspired by cow
farts, and back-firing carbon-fueled vehicles, chicken little scenarios we get
every so often when headlines read we have a mere ten years until it’s too late
to stop it, each prediction coming and going without the demise of the planet,
these doomsayers who promise, but don’t believer, and frankly, I’m
disappointed, wanting for the next prediction to come true, knowing it my heart
it never will, despite all of the brain dead children who believe otherwise.
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