Roads leading to Nowhere take you across the cracked asphalt,
thin veins running along and pushing against the surface,
cigarettes scattered across it, ground into its cold skin,
and a thick cloud of smoke congesting your weak lungs.

You pass by a small, huddled group of children and adults,
dirty rags hanging from their thin bodies. Dull eyes sit
upon their faces, their warm spark long gone, while
their cracked lips are set in a permanent grimace.

Cold guns shake in the scarred hands of young men,
their icy shots ringing in the biting wind. Riots
of red splatter across the muddy snow,
the only color in their grey war.

A girl sits, her coffee almost black enough to swallow
her whole. Wrapping her fingers around the mug, she
offers the waitress a stitched smile as newspaper
word cut-outs slip out of her mouth.

The Roads lead you throughout
the divided train tracks,
taking you:
Nowhere.