Limited performance

there's something burning in the back of my throat. perhaps it's ash, having lodged itself inside, is now choking the insides of my esophagus. im trying not to confuse the two...the smog from outside with the smell of burning flesh within. something is shriveling up and dying...and the stench is making me nauseated. the thunderous roar from outside is not natural...it is man-made, a storm so furious even the gods wince at such displays of anguish.

it's all gray. so....gray. never have i seen such clearer shades of gray.

and you promised me that nothing would change. but i can feel the winds of change beneath my feet, carrying me off to places i'd rather not be.

please...we still have so much time, so much to do. don't cut our act short.