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.