Gunk.
Stains.
Puke.
This is war.
We are soldiers.
Our mops are our rifles.
The flies are casualties.
Oh to be pure.
Oh to be clean.
Unreachable as the heavens itself.
Because there will always be more.
More will be their less.
Surplus will be our apocalypse.
Waves upon waves of spit and carcass.
But let them overflow!
Let them drown us!
In bleach.
In ethanol.
In lukewarm soda.
I do not fear death.
I have been with abandon my whole life.
My place is in the bin.
But,
If one day, I do not hear the squeak of your shoes,
If one day, I do not see the shine of your name tag,
Then I know I truly lost.
Because you are a reminder of what gleam is.
You are what is possible.
Beyond chemicals.
Beyond rushed.
Beyond compromise.
You make all this mess Eden.
