Hypoxic

Crawling and frail
Cold, concrete prisons
Take the ardor of all
Our very being

Stark confines
Dark walls
No convalescence
Breath dissipating
Wasted, hypoxic
Longing for the free, open air

No purpose
Woeful
Our obsolescence
Useless, we rot
In empty stagnation
Lost, ashamed, we wither away

I wander through the desert
Of a mind long lost in absence
Drifting through the futility
Of what was left behind
When our nature’s calling was cast aside for hubris
And these iron towers, these steel, wrought shackles

Drifting through the futility of what was left behind

Alone we gaze into our long-forgotten selves
We cannot recognize our own reflection

We built these towers
And we must tear them down
Lest we forget ourselves
And suffocate alone