Burned out masses, over burned down mashes.
Burning out muscles, through burning down matches.

Munching on the brains of masters,
Bundled up in the state of monsters.

Born by the friction of the heedless came all.
And chaos broke out of the lined up.

Wind and mercury and screams.
No explosion, just whithering of the sleeping.

And amidst the fire and the crushing and the grinding and the surging, subtle forms dance around, drifting the darkness of the remnants' ashes.

With a laughing silhouette next to them, looking like an old man to me.
© anafon