Absurd metallic decorations thrust out of the exposed brick. Texture battles line and pattern.

The stark rusting lines wedge against the walls and the skies. Even the serrated shadows have to hide.

The rusted metal grips the teal walls, clamps them down and spreads like a parasite. Age is inescapable. The scars are permanent. Nobody will rebuild this place. Nobody will paint it anew. The only path to freedom is disintegration.

Letters and meaning torn apart with rust and age. A violent metallic death for these unuttered symbols.

It’s legs are rusted, and anchored wide. The base is a line drawing of orange and black.