Arid

A speck of civilization dots an endless expanse of brown rubble.

The arid earth crumbles and flakes off its former mistress,

leaving her to sail away on the next suitable gust of choking air.

A lifeless plot of subtle movement

reeks of desperation.

Exuding a longing to be touched by life—a longing never to be fulfilled.

A creeping sense of inert loneliness plows the multitude of fields,

distinguishable one from the other only by varying shades of the same

sickly

brown.

Where hope is pushed into the deep, dark recesses of the earth.

Where wishes remain unborn or are quickly aborted.

The rusty road to a nonexistent will to live.

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