Walking through the halls—a shadow
drifting at the edges, the far corners of a mind
given way to raving at the night through broken windows
and who listens?
Who on the withered lawn stands witness to insanity?
The walls are gone out further
Built up high against a dawn that may not rise
and on highways dark and winding
there comes a vision out of the abyss
feeding on a trail of bloodstained broken glass
crawling wretched toward the fallen home of shadow