Withering colors, in carbonated yellows
Rusted green and foaming white,
Bubbling leftovers of humanistic pursuit.
Rotten corpses of artistic benevolence lining the streets.
The scrunched up flesh of unfinished stories,
Discarded as fear that their imperfect toxicity might scar a pure white page,
Just a bag of waste.
Wasted potential
Wasted time
Waste