X for extinguished, for the flickering tendrils of hope that wound down my nearly hollow bones, allowing me to lift off into the storm-ravaged clouds of my mind and sweep over desolate, desimated corn fields while the world passed through below pillaging the sweet fruits of slave's labor: all colors and creeds, or as the society says, "Anyone who looks or thinks different from me," are pushed to shatter like waves on the glass- and garbage-defiled beaches--our hearts sunken as we shamble forward, zombies of our own creation, seeking out the next resource, soul, or even planet to manipulate, mutilate, and play god with, yet we cannot even understand the beauty of a starlit night without all our lights, our ipods, and our iphones getting in the way.
