We've taken our seats
In the safety of the bunker,
Waiting for the doom.
.
Scotch on the rocks
And rocks on a mirror.
The most fun times begin to loom.
.
One small wedding
To brighten the day
Of those few inside this room.
.
It'll end with a mess
All over the ground
And no-one to exume.
.
A wretched stench is expected
To waft across the land,
An awful perfume.
.
As I watch the common weaken,
I find that I might
Also feel it too.
.
Wait, a cough?
It's sabotage!
But by whom?!?
YOU ARE READING
The Fullest of Crypts is in the Open Air
PoetryThe complete genocide of the human species in rhyming fashion. 1,558 words.
