Derelict

People like buildings, designed to fall down. Some are just destined to be abandoned, to collect the dust, to rot, to be admired for their skeletons, their bare souls. To be forgotten in time. I see men and women, like war torn houses and towns, crumbling to the ground. There are ruins everywhere. People lost and afraid, letting the air around them fray the edges. Moonlight parade of madness, climbing from shadow to shadow. The wicked ones cackling, the wind howling, the broken city and all of its wanderers. It is derelict. So much of these ways. Once it all worked, like a fluid machine, now it is the remains of something, perhaps beautiful, perhaps not. But it still stands, in whatever fragmented form, a part of the days.