We Are Trapped.

Open the doors from our rooms,
There is a hallway.
We step down the stairs,
There is another door.
Beyond this door are streets,
Quaintly strewn with rubbish.
Will we be the ones to walk away,
Or will this pollution be banished
to it's hell of churning trash?
I observe the observers,
I pass by the passers-by.
Above the chaos and comfort,
There is no end.
We will continue to breathe,
Coexisting with inatimacy.
A red moon beckons us to cower,
But we express and conquer.
Our camouflage of fear,
Opaque in a serene expanse of ineptitude
is offering a reimbursement to reality.