is there anybody here left standing?
this place was once the world, my world. surrounded by flowers and coated in film grain. returning feels like a warm blanket. the same haven, exactly as i left it, only missing a couple hundred who i once shared it with. where have all the flowers gone? taking comfort in an empty capsule, something must be wrong. is there anybody here left standing? my doleful concern, it’s far past the point we should have stopped marching on. oh, when will they ever learn?


















