Underfoot

We move fast when there is a war underfoot.

Quick to discover, quicker to bastardize.

We run like rats on meth, butterflies on speed,

Through the maze the others built and there isn't

A way to look at this that doesn't seem like a game.

.

We are playing in the sandbox we created,

Pushing heaps of sand into make believe mountains

And burying friends and family underneath the rubble

Of the sand castles we kicked down out of spite,

Out of the necessity of ceaseless growth.

.

There's a churning groan inside our metal chests,

The combustion engine of fury and excitement

Spitting out the ungodly desire to destroy ourselves.

It's a burning lust, so tantalizing, so sugar-sweet

We can only run full steam ahead into Death's arms.

.

There is nowhere else to go once the fuel ignites.

The pressure, the power, the movement must run free

Until we taste nuclear warheads in our dreams and drink

The fallout of an engine that moves too fast for too long.

Even metal melts and we are not strong enough to persist.