no broken ladders left to spoil our descent. no open windows to sneak us in. only the cold resolve of withering horizons. as the road consumes our remains.
find the edge. found by it. above the truth. below the lies.
occasional kingdoms arise from the soil. empty feasts press the void.
the war rages outside and within. Selling sunshine and thunderstorms to rotting skeletons. while bone and skin slouch toward their fragile edge.