Civilization type
Mercenary
A sharp pressure in my mouth

Wave quake generator
Plasma artillery

Perpetual state of suffering
Longing for return

But I stand in the middle of the forgotten

The taste of aluminum
Lingers in my mouth
I cannot breathe
I struggle to be

I feel the tip of the needle
As it runs down my tongue
It grazes the side
A pinch

Prior to injection

But there is nothing left of me
Their world will always be pretentious
And I've still yet to see
If there anything left for us