faces looming down and the sound of outside is muted dystopic with the hoods and white puffy faces a screech of metal arouses everything these terraces of peeling paint bare their soul as I bare my own wet air attacks on its side when we’re alone this feels as though it's a figment wired chatter reverberates on wet stone and growing bone that's stacked this is the place you come to die sudden lights blow away the shading dusty air a roaring turbine stirs something inside me stirs everyone with platitudes we are gone a rack of spines shirked onward by the crunching spires of whistling beasts eternal