I saw my generation destroyed by a great plague.
Men and women reduced to boys and girls.
The rot and decay of humanity.
Sorrow bled in rivulets of sound
Pour’d forth a cacophony of silent screams.
Brothers and sisters lost. Not dead but dreaming.
Never to return. Never to awaken.
Eyes vacant and bodies muddled about. Listless. Decayed.
They shuffled, no longer human.
Devoid of that which makes one alive.
And in this disease of mind and destruction of will,
Many comrades were lost.
I remember her eyes. Black and glassy. Dead.
She doesn’t even know who I am
And that she once loved me.
I remember his face. Once fat and healthy.
Now skinny and frightening. I lost a friend.
Too many casualties to count.
The desiccated husk of my generation.
The aimless, wandering, shuffling dead.
Forever trapped in the worlds of unawakening.
Bleeding toxic waste. Exhaling death. And fragments of metal.
The plague that destroyed my generation.
The plague that is called
Meth.
Your Swansong.
