there were fires in the skies,
all of them of different colour
and of different size,
blossoming:
flowers left by mournful wings
which fluttered twice and fell silent.
i touched the wall where once your back
pressed my hands
and left them bleeding,
and the stone seemed smoother,
and less alive,
its thirst long satisfied.
this town is death,
has died
and is dead,
the flesh has been torn and discarded.
when the flames fail,
then starts the decay
and on the dawn it will end.
a new town will rise,
and until then
there is me and me only,
masturbating among the bones.
rescued by the nodeshell rescue team
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