Carrion City

The sky is a foggy vermilion with the smoke of lit cadavers.
Helpless drunkards claw at the sky with gritty fingernails.
Bloody palms scrape their passengers across the asphalt.
Children take refuge in damp parking lots, and sleep with gravel.

Structures of cold glass and steel collectively rape the sky;
All crowned with vultures and formerly sovereign warmongers.
Staring perpetually downward, they cast a man-made night over the ruins.

The street lights rage on; the puddles still whimper.