Empty gods.

A vicarious sadness takes over
and all the while a panic and a surge of
adrenaline
conquers bodies.

Serotonin flows thin,
dopamine a mere faraway memory;
make the most of this now.

Empty bottles and cigarette butts have now
defined existences
as worlds crash, burn, recollect and recall.

As caged animals scream silently for release
and fires, fatal flames, burn
somewhere deep inside,
hidden;
they sense they’re not alone.

Much like some of us,
much like me,
they’re begging to be released.