To a bleak house we might find our self bound.
In an inopportune situation in a world without relief.
Crying for an ort, a morsel, a scrap.
Our distress your unrest.
Virulent disaster without vaccine.
End and now.
Tombs spilled out as we filled graves with unknown corpses.
Omelet and scrambled eggs a persistence of broken visions.
Cocarcinogenic, meeting the neuro malaise of a culture of insanity.