bridge notes

I found myself under one of Ottawa's bridges recently and it was so, incredibly littered. Broken glass and just, everything, and it saddened me. I sat down to write this but then felt too sketched out to journal there any longer...

ashes to ashes
dust to dust,
even the rats
eventually leave us.
for a better place,
or maybe it's worse,
but what other world
has ever been so cursed
by humanity,
by insanity,
by the outcome
of destruction
of almost every family.
there's no place to walk
with feet left bare,
for every rock's covered
in the broken glass of despair,
of shattered affair,
of the result of seeing
and being
trained
not to care.