An end greeted all too quickly, 

this final form is but a whisper 

of what you once were. 

Leaves are your iron, 

forged in fire’s nemesis, 

cooled by winter’s tears. 

Constantly contrasted, static sitting 

in the synthetic tundra. 

Days numbered, 

by the commands of consumers. 

An alloy silo awaits. 

Violently shaken, 

a final state awakens. 

Flooding your holding cell, 

a life sentence, 

served in a plastic cup. 

Don’t forget the straw.