Scuttling like rats in the streets.

Like the ants under your skin.

Your mind reaches for peace.

Like one quiet night.

Like a civilization burned to ash.

You force yourself to be amongst them.

Though they are grotesque creatures.

Banal and useless.

Perhaps a real rain will wash the scum off the streets.

Like a celestial exterminator to end this plague.

The creatures scuttle to and fro.

Working, fucking, fighting.

This should end.

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