When the Earth was part of the World,
nothing could hurt us.
We were invincible and we knew it
no longer did we lay, curled
against ourselves, oblivious
to all; indefinite was the limit.

Nothing at all was preventative,
on the contrary, all was an incentive
for the perpetual native.

We lived freely,
for no restrictions did we place.
Ours were lives of opulence,
of days spent in an unfailingly
careless stupor, too intoxicated by our own face,
unable to prevent the semblance

of ourselves from taking control.
Our actions, like flies, they cajole
us, landing us in this hellhole.