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Wandering starved, wandering scar.

The sound, I always go back to the sound, but it is difficult to describe if you cannot hear…Drawn away from a normal perception of life and living, and trying not to lose hold of this particularly precarious grip on sanity, tenuous at worse…The gears grinding down in each other’s teeth, leaving marks upon the starry, slashed sky…Factory-black smoke crawls, fills up the small space, and fire burns the night with its’ spark of fiery life…What moves there, in the smoke-filled night, that crawls as the fire through the bankrupt skyscrapers teeth…Moving up and across the horizon line, trees into buildings and homes into trees and farms again…Scenery collapsing under the gravity of helpless motion, in heaps and clumps of solid matter against the skyline, and breaking cracks of dark during the bright light of day…Shadows now creating the darkness that fake hidden under the ground while the sun streaks the sky…I am Here…

Thanks, khet.