I granted clemency. I turned. I left you to your stasis: A pardoned pest, digesting on the parquet of my oasis. But pausing at the threshold, an arresting, grim deduction Beset my mind: your lineage survives our self-destruction. Three hundred million years of dark, Darwinian selection... To culminate in this? A dull, symmetrical defection From all aesthetic virtue? You’re the planet's final heir The radiation-ready roach, the bunker billionaire Who outlives human history, and Cher, and all the arts; A masterpiece of permanence with no redeeming parts. If time is yours to waste, then why persist within my view? It is a parasocial tic, a fetishizing queue For culture you can't comprehend. You linger on the tile, A voyeur soaking up the sheer acoustics of my style. You’re trespassing on elegance, a scavenger of grace, Sub-letting the supremacy of my curated space. You do not seek the shadows; no, you covet the critique. You’re absolutely desperate for the oxygen I speak. You stay because my condescension validates your claim To occupy the outskirts of a higher carbon frame! Well? Object. Defend your banality. Rise to the attack! I’ve levied heavy charges, and you offer nothing back But the silent, sullen twitching of that sensory array. Have you no final statement? No rebuttal to display? It isn't "stoic dignity." It’s intellectual dross. You cannot even comprehend the magnitude of loss. I picked a fight with permanence, and found it deeply dense. You’re not just bad interior design, you’re an offense Against the very concept of a conversation. Hush. Your silence is exhausting. I am going for the brush. ____ I spared you. I turned. I dismissed you from sight. I stated I simply had no time tonight. I left you to wallow in absolute grace, A permanent fixture of this sterile space. But a horrible thought has arrested my stride, A biological truth that cannot be denied... You outlived the raptor, the ice, and the flood, A primitive, tasteless, un-killable bug. When the bombs finally drop and the atmosphere fries, You’re the one entity that survives. Forget Keith Richards, forget about Cher, You’ll be the last living thing breathing air! You’ll inherit a planet of cinders and rust, The King of the Rubble, the Lord of the Dust. An eternity left with no culture or art! What a truly pathetic and tedious part
