June 16, 2011
Outside a wasteland is scorching
Dust from bones forms a roaming bowl
Lethal dosages abundant, green haze over snow
Weather changes quickly, sporadically
An angry wind propels nuclear air
Inside my cave, I watch
The cool and damp walls bring me comfort
My blanket, warmth through the frigid nights
A cave crawler over an open spit
A fire burning bright, a comfy rock upon which I sit
A cool bottle of water upon my lips
Does it get any better than this?

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