strangers passed along a busy street and only noticed each other's feet.
the same clear sky dimmed above their heads but with necks craned down
they all seemed dead. stranger's went about their day, inhaling the same air,
again and again. recycled ideas expanded on their desks;
along with the headaches and pains in their chests.
pressure built inside their spaces; offices growing dank with cases,
nothing new just the same old faces.
the world grew strong in a concrete mass,
both rising and falling in another blast.
the people continued on their way,
never worrying about a day,
for they new their end would come without a say,
allowing them to start again.
and that is all they really wanted, was a faultier system
and empty promises, something they could lay their
blame; for they hadn't really contributed anything either way.