Perpetual death

A drenched dead leaf lies
naked on the unforgiving pavement
cool, yet boiling from the bottom,
simmering some hundred thousand
depressed thoughts in a city that's gray
as the hair that grows out of sheer
anxiety and desperation. Red hot
depression, chili-like intensity and red-faced
rage bring impotence and utter selfishness
past the precipitation point, where the
question whether the glass is half full
or half empty feels closer to an insult
than a true philosophical musing.
Still it’s amusing to see that a
person might be reckless enough to
ruin a life in a fleeting instant.
The perpetual death gets crushed
by a heavy leather boot that smashes
the leaf into smithereens. The utmost
embodiment of life is now dead.