Running and running.
Looking for something.
It’s hunting and hunting.
Until it finds someone.
The sky is filled.
Trees are killed.
Water no longer distilled.
This world is now surreal.
Your enemy inside.
Your parasite.
Gets under your skin.
Until you die.
But somewhere within.
A friend is saved.
From humanity’s conspiring plague.
Pollution that won’t go away.
Somehow formed from your disdain.
Just inhale toxic fumes and cry.
As toxicity slowly changes your life.
An organism that grows only to die.
How can that seem so justified?
Does this question eat at you like cancer?
Is it hard to find a possible answer?
Whether you’re a parasite or a host.
The advantage is unknown.
The economy is gone.
Nothing’s left.
Only the zero and the one.
Nothing is everything.
Even when we run.
