The black musty stench of it like decaying leaves

Left forgotten to rot on the forest floor

Bombards my senses yet again.


It is a pockmarked road,

Littered here and there with sharp obstacles

Like broken bricks just below the sinking surface.


I trudge through it slowly, barefoot,

Feeling its acrid slime rise up between my toes,

Sticking like tar and just as hard to remove.


Above me the sky is black to match the ground,

Blinding me in both directions.

Another day, another darkness.

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