Pitmen worked beneath the skin, their charges primed,
to smash each fortress on each bitter crest.
They’d exhale death upon the hour, and time
the start – the steady boys above would do the rest. 113 more words
7 months, 1 week
"You must suffer me to go my own dark way"
Strangled light accentuates
The pock marked damnation
Of deformed no-man’s land,
Malformed haze devotedly
Pilfers our silent sights,
Stagnant water feeds death
Into the already crumbling… 187 more words
9 months, 1 week