making a killing is murder

i was just killing time like casual murder. dropped a fag to the concrete. stamped. killed it, and thought, 'i can stamp and stomp all i want but you're killing me, arent you? you fucking scrunch of smoke. you slug'. tobacco! tobacco! like a coughing opera. i wasn't sure if it was a friend or foe. manifesting doubts. and then i realised that i had nothing on time either, and that i was the victim of time's violence, rather than the inverse, as everyone seemed to believe. what nonsense is pop. what next? we're killing mother earth? no, mother earth can shrug us off at any moment. environmentalists are in denial and can't admit to themselves that they care most about saving their own skin. mother earth doesnt give a fuck about plastic or CO2. she's looking out at those asteroids, smiling, waiting for release. yeh, yeh, like, trust me, i've asked her.