Its hell down here

The wind is hot down here
the clouds are made of cinders
the tips of the grass black and burnt
the fields the colour of ash
the people they cried all day long
their tears sizzled as they fell
feet charred and toenails curl
breathing black smoke and burnt rubber
the sky goes on forever, dark and endless
broken glass line the streets
cracking and crunching under bare feet
biting and snipping at flesh and skin