Landfill

This is what it comes down to. Long before we're dead and gone. Long before we're buried. We throw away pieces of ourselves. Our stories, our memories, detached and separated. What we so desperately longed for, tossed away, left to rot, once we came to understand, happiness could not be bought.

But we still look for it in castles and cabins. In plastic and oil. The one true lesson of our history is our absolute refusal to learn from it. 

The mountains in the landfill grows, a testament to our food chain. The worms and crows die happy and fulfilled, death by the poison of our dreams.

Natasha Head