The dark clouds that have been chasing all week finally
overtook me yesterday, punishing me with hail and forcing me underground.
No chance of any outside rock being dry since.
It has made me value my squalid hole however
dank and smelly it may be.
Drip
My second day in here now.
Golumnesque, I cling to the walls and attach myself to the roof living
only in the beam of my head-torch.
Drip
It’s by no means dry in here.
Moisture seems to seep out of the rock,
coating it in a slimy film.
Drip
Parts of the walls and ceilings are black from fire. The hole has been lived in, I hear, for thousands
of years.
I check for occupants regularly and crap in a bag as not
to anger whoever may return......
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