we are breathless;
too broken to speak of
the silent knife plunged
into our chests
we are nightmares
fully fleshed out,
scratching our own skin
where fire and brimstone
have latched on
on the cracked stones we walk,
under grey skies we beat on;
we keep the pain and anger alive,
have them haunting us til morning
in the endless rain
we trudge,
burnt, dull-eyed
drawing nearer to the dark.
