The material was made to last a hundred years and more. It was made to exist and help and cater to our omnivore needs.
Yet we twisted it around again - "use once and discard".
And the result - an entire island of sad bags and crying cups. Now who is responsible for this graveyard?
***
I'll weave myself something that will last longer than a day. Use snippets to mend the broken, the old, the useless. Together, won't these second-hand beings work well?
If nothing else, I can build my own game. Without a mad circle. Without a vicious cycle. Not even a game. A material, maybe. A feeling.
One that is meant to last a hundred years and more.
YOU ARE READING
To you, I sing across the moon
PoetryOne day I sat down and spun a story to the stars above. Hoping they can keep a secret. But the moon, that traitor, turned around and told you everything I said. About you. And about this world. All my little idle thoughts grew roots and flesh. No...
