Exhale this history.
Then listen for the fanfare of a coming age.
The sound of tomorrow, coming home today.
The trumpets playing.
The crowds are gathered to celebrate.


And none of it's good enough.


Erase this history.
Wipe out the work and bury the evidence.
Burn all these headlines.
The flashbulbs like mushroom clouds.
Inhale, breathe deeply.
Choke.
Choke.

I was a bit of a mess when I wrote this, but upon reflection its either about how the superficiality of the mass media would trivialise even the end of the world, or about how a relationship could completely fall apart, but material things can remain and remind and hurt. I don't honestly know.