Grey follows the road,

like a lingering curse...winding it's way into

my brain,

where knawing regret lies.

Faces distorted, dreary buildings melt

into carnivorous burial grounds.

Objects vanish into dust, as I trek

an unmerciful, relentless highway.

Knowing is a cursed thing,

and planning is an illusion.

For all have fallen into despair,

and all is nil.

What has fallen, cannot rise,

in this finite desolation.

Eternity closes it's eyes tightly,

for here...there are no survivors.