100 years from now
The world will look a lot different
More metal, less plants
More people, less space
And we will be nothing more than bodies
Probably burned for space conservation
Used as fertilizer in the new vertical gardens
Spread over seedlings to ensure one generation
Can help another
That we aren't as selfish as we seem
But as for me
I'll be in the same place
Still sitting
Breeze in my hair
Legs dangling over
The rocky side of the cliff
Turned to stone
Waiting for you to come home
YOU ARE READING
Please, Disregard
PoetryAn untold story from a misplaced generation, this is teen angst at its finest. These the writings of The Suicide Notebook, or how I'd imagine them to be. It's mostly going to be in poetry form, slam or rhyming. Keep in mind that slam poetry sounds a...
