On the side of the bathroom stall,
Are engravings of the immature,
Anger at society or the police,
Rage against your enemies,
Immortalized in an obscure little
Restaurant they leave their mark.
Yet, immortal its not,
You see the old place
Being torn down or renovated,
The bathroom stall is sent
To a garbage dump
Where it languishes,
Nature blows against their petty monuments,
As it does the great ones.
If lust, anger, and rage
Will fade away,
Killed by the elements,
As both you and the objects
Of your emotions disappear
Into the great sea of dead humanity,
Forgotten to this world,
To be spoken again no more,
Where is the glory
In the words crudely
Carved into metal.
