The Future is No Future at All

After the End

I walk down empty streets

looking for you and find only wind.

Afternoon sun burns my skin.

Nothing new in this dead land.

If I found you would you recognize me?

Gaunt face and weather worn skin,

aged remnants of the young man

I used to be.

Rays of light beam into my mind,

Irises constrict to a needlepoint,

Burning away a landscape 

as dead as my inner life.

Aching joints give and break.

I can feel the ants on my skin.

Such small feet pacing over me,

Mandibles tear into my flesh.

Waiting for sunset.

Waiting for sunset.

Nothing left.

Only this.