Crystal clear faces shatter under the unforgiving weight of rutine.
Feelings once pure and noble, now deranged. Bootprints adorn them, as purpose fades.

Debased; the mud-covered carcass of the man I used to be.

Truths kept locked beneath meat-shaped vaults.
Answers to all and none.
Their absence soothes my mind's ailment,
while sewn shut teeth spoon feed my veins a welcoming dose of cyanide.

Pockmarked stains on the walls and sheets.
Light and comfort are kept wrapped in tight chains;
prisoners of the amorphous grey demons looming over this city of old.

My next step casts its shadow on the moon, for down is the only way up.

And even though hope was convinced to leave by two-faced rascals with no care for our ecosystem, a sketch of its meaning is etched into this crackling skull.
Echolocation is the method of choice then, so as to hope that it's not too late.
That newly formed abominations may one day give its secrets away.