the ones that stayed did not fare well
saving the world from monsters was one thing
but saving it from itself proved to be impossible
I think I saw one once
selling penny crafts outside the mall by a public ashtray
splendid relics of a time I can only dream of
laying on a dirty grease rag

I bought a mithril bracelet
while he was etching my name across the front,
in a language he wouldn't speak,
I noticed the track marks running up his arms
they weren't like a normal junkie's
but shaped like heavenly bodies, beautiful
nauseating...

I rolled up a fifty inside the three ones I owed him
and placed them in his shaky hand
I dared not look him in the eye
I didn't have to
they reeked of ruin
like those black and whites of conquered warchiefs
on their deathbeds

I almost made it back to my car before the vomit came
it splattered across asphalt,
completely at home by wads of chewing gum,
and all I felt was grief for the elves..
for all the indigenous people..
that got fucking swallowed up
in the machine.

If you [Log In] as a member you can discuss this work with others