Bright Lights Burnt Out

And they pile high in excess, tears still streaming from their eyes, the hot lights and bright sun tan their skin, the sweat, the blood, each one dying sooner or later. Children, all of them children, that quick crack, the strap runs up my back, cutting the flesh, with each snap, new warmth. You could see the skin peeling into the air. Dig me into the ground. Tunnel me into the ground. Save me, Save me. Last of a Generation. Last of a Generation. And as I dream, I drown, and as I breathe I suffocate. Time’s run out.