Nothing

Phlegm cleared,
pupils dilated.
An interrupted synergy,
speaking in verse - purportedly.

All the walls covered,
nasty off-green drips
collecting in puddles
on torn wood floors.

Equal parts
horrific childhood goo,
recollections fictional,
then modernist dilemma:
tomorrow's solutions
to yesterday's conflict.

We've achieved actualization
through stasis, stressing
semantics while
speaking of ought.

We, the kids who never
grew up, children of Dystopia.