When we walked through the city, you told me the pillars that held up the office block were to protect it from earthquakes.

Feet collide with concrete, and bones vibrate through their dermal confines.
Cold, hard ground provides the cathartic ache that draws us further into the cruel, thrashing void.
Absolute and total kinetic disarray envelopes the pillars that hold the body aloft,
and the energy explodes out of the joints.
Hands clamp to wrists, prison irons that we begged for,
chains that loop around and snare themselves,
and everything becomes a tangle.

But oh the laughter, the damning, maddening howls that ripple through the fields of walking meat,
the last gasp of sanity we can afford,
it makes sweeter music than the carrion harps could ever make,
strings of marrow and sinew singing in the weightless air.

And we dance ourselves to our graves.