The dying weeds shriek
Their cries of agony lost in the wind that is haling down from the heavens
Winds unwind as their rein of fury is released
This wasteland is barren
Empty except for the weeds and the dunes that stretch across the Alps of nothingness
Life does not flourish here
This misanthropic world thrives off of human suffering
Of greed, gluttony, and desire
It did not die by its hand
It died due to the torment we humans cause every day
To ourselves
To our world
To each other
The world is already dead
Fallout Shelter
2.19.24
10:29 AM
-Nathaniel Stelchook-Grey, sophomore
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