bits of paint and color, bits of pain and colour, rain muted and dull. she was invisible to them. alleys spoke of dark deeds and sin, so much in so little time. dirt and grit embedded in and blacks covering and everything so stained and unpure and scarred. no one came and no one left and everything was moving yet still and the road was littered and the walls were bare and the bricks were bloodied and nothing could be done that hadn't already been tried. the people stayed and the men kept coming and nothing could stop an unstoppable force but this was an unmovable object so it was tried in vain anyway. it was wild and wicked and our bodies are so soft but the walls are so hard and so we will throw ourselves at them until they are stained and we are broken and neither can get up to finish the game.
