The POM
Published in

The POM

Fingerprints

Photo by ArtTower on Pixabay

You wished for quiet, and now you have it,
that solitude so absolute.
You swear you could hear the moss grow
and you— just like a creeping vine,
tangling yourself up around everything that isn’t yours,
but you’ll add your fingerprints to every surface anyway
because there may be a day where someone sees the remnants
— a civilization that once was,
and they may weep for your existence.
They may try to connect to what they see.
Then again, their survival isn’t…

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