collection assignment number 5

wind. ready. light. lights i hear them, but i can't explain them, something inside. bots, a boom. the end. here, stand. Me, scattered and staggered. The hill, strewn. 74 thousand americans die to the bomb, one swoop, 20 insurgents and this is the end. Death brings them sweet solace. Clad in robes of red and blue, they ascend. to wrap themselves in grey irony in the heavens. we will not be forgotten. we cannot smoke in restaurants, but our lives remain the same exact replica of existance as the ones who cannot see the ground for their bellies. can anyone see the ground that awaits unless they plummet? with the simple walk, we discover nothing. nothing, nothing, nothing. i cant stop the word, it enters into every equation, thing and place. Have i become such a nihlist that i cannot think in a full spectrum of emotion like a human? Gummo sucks.