One day the sun stopped
shining in the sky.
Every major city burned
pyres of wood so they could see.
When the logs ran out
they used dreams instead.
The dreams lit up like horrible
beautifully efficient infernos.
We were so fucking hollow
once our dreams became ash.
We were paper thin but we told
ourselves that at least we were warm.
We sacrificed our ideals and dreams
lest we might become uncomfortable.