Echoes of sad pianos, far, then closer:

vibrating, hysterical, through the stuffy haze.

Rotten exhale of dying dreams, acrid, then bland:

swarming, in agony, across the charred bars of iron.

Then: thump-thump-thump, and again.

Obscene footfalls from the backyard.

- "Are They finally leaving this place?"

- "Long time to the day They will be gone."

The iridescent Caryatid was squealing in pain, across the room, bearing the ceilings.

No escape.

*"Escape", By LL.

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