Violently twisted, tossing and turning,
Spasms and seizures, wracking my body,
Action reaction, chance of success,
Attack and reload, breathe my last breath,
The logic, methodic,
I don't think I'll win,
Frantic, you panic,
No matter how fast you run,
Feeding it slowly, crouching, hidden,
Shadows thicken, keeping hiding, you're stricken,
Numbness and loss, blood pounding in your ears,
Demons and nihtmares, your deepest fears,
Sadistic, horrific, the last hour of light
Twisted, demonic, roaring dementia,
Creeping and skulking, can't hide or fight,
Pathetic, dependent, you're always screaming,
Won't let me be,
Synthetic, genetic, your new condition,
Your twisted mind shuts down,
You make me bleed from your backstabbing,
Make me hate with your attitude,
Lied from the start,
You told me everything but the truth.

It was Death. Reeking, rancid Death. Filling the silence of every ashen morning, during which the sun would embark upon another crawl across the horizon, shredded on every inch of its feeble journey by a tangle of clouds, iron in hue. A steel tomb for those below. They congregated on the streets in ever-growing masses, whilst the survivors were buried out of sight. Those who had envied the dead were already amongst them. Those who didn't fought on for themselves, stalking, hunting and dying alone, whilst the slain quietly observed with expressions of horror, frozen in their final moments. Many of the still living (or rather, still-dying) wore similar expressions of terror, blurring the line that defined where life ended and death began.
The place bore no name, nor did the denizens. Identities were burdensome and an invention of civilisation, and here, civilisation was as alien as human kindness. Faith died with the city too. Mosques, synagogues and churches were hideouts at best, indis