Hello little gnomes drilling for oil amongst my vast wasteland of neck.
I feel you gnawing deep
But have
Nothing
Left To offer.
Sticky black tar is all that remains.
It clings to me in lumps as you slide down my crooked spine.
Everything is gone.
Your shovels took my coal. Your hammers struck heavy blows.
There is no more beauty.
A shroud covers my eyes.
A dullness enters my mind.
You sit in your boats, propelling through the muck that was once my brain.
Your greedy hands have smudged it up.
Blast you and your dynamite, your massive numbers, your ‘Implementation’ plans.
Look at what you’ve done.
Look at who you’ve hurt.
Was it worth it?
Tschüss,
Marta Frieda Hart
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