They are at it again… building things just to tear them down. Twisted spirals into oblivion. Wasteland as far as the eye can see. If I had a soapbox I think I would stand on it just to get a look around, maybe pick some of the glass out of my skin. Much of it has healed over. The glass is still under there writhing against muscle and bone.
It is days like today that I wish I had stayed in the pit built for just me. Yes the glass will shred the skin and warmth will trickle down my back in an almost comforting way. Yes I know that it is blood just as I know when I look up and out there will be only oil slicked darkness above and a chasm that I have never found the end of below. Sometimes I wonder how deep it is down there, how dark, and how comforting that darkness will be once I settle down into it impaled on spikes meant to do the damage that will leave me pinned and writhing but not dead. There are hundreds of places they can slide right through and not kill me.
I wonder what the blood would look like as it slipped down the spikes soaking the dirt floor. Or maybe the floor is shards of glass too… in which case the blood on it would shine in the iridescent light. At times I wonder if those are the patterns that the architects follow when they build or if it is just something that they pick out of my dreams.