Burning

She couldn’t care anymore.

Not for the screams, or the hollers, nor for the tales of terror, or even for the sight of appalling horror. She would sit and expect, the withered roses burning at her feet - burning. She couldn’t care anymore. For all she could see were glassy eyes of faltered momentum, and hallowed gazes of forsaken millennium. She couldn’t care because they didn’t let her. But, as the embers of greed consumed all that was extant, and death clutched all that was ill fortunate, she turned her back to all that was living - including herself. Because she couldn’t care anymore.

Even if it was all burning, burning, burning.