Who Has Heard of Us?

          What goes up must come down. It comes down hard, no less. It comes down fast, without warning. That’s what we say anyways, without warning. The warning came, and the warning was looked over with eyes too important to see their own fate. Our monolithic statues to ourselves, where we work, where we sleep, where we fuck those we’ve never met before, clearly doomed for a second life of solitude. Clear as the skies above us once were. Now the muddied oxygen serves as a last laugh in the face of humanity. Who, or should I say what, did we think we were? How long did we kiss the grounds with poison lips, or look to the lushness of trees with a different kind of green in our eyes? Does it even matter now, was it all for not? Of course it was, because in the end, who is left to hear our voices?