Party Like It's 1999

We wander forward

just moving

away from

what's behind

us. All that's

behind us

so very

afraid

of sleeping

in the 

dark.

Hungry.

Vultures

we are,

whatever we can

find on the 

ground

in the dirt

bloated

and rotten,

full of a stench

the death

we did not

see

but taste 

so succulently,

and we'll 

laugh,

giggling at how

we used to only 

eat vegetables

and how we thought

we could save the 

world from this,

and that

looking around

at what isn't 

anymore,

everything

we knew,

a whole new place

full of so
few people
mostly those
who wouldn't

have a 

care 

about tasting

your flesh

while you watch

them do it;

and we will walk 

with blood on our 

faces

from impossible animals that

made it

until they didn't,

found by us,

cooked on our fire

and we will never 

guess what's across 

the sea

because we 

will not

have understood yet

that when it

comes down 

to it

you and me

are all we've got.

So to answer your 

question;

am I sorry?

You have no idea 

how sorry

I am.

Until the day I

can't hold

steady,

your stride by mine

when the ash

is falling and

we are breathing it

in like we need it,

like it doesn't matter

the sun behind 

eternal clouds

and we can't walk 

from 

the blisters,

when my

very breath

leaves,

trying to 

hold the shape

of a word

on my 

lips,

I am 

so

so sorry.