Torn and rusted, a shelter for the lost, for the temporal.

A distant relative emerges from the waters, scrapes its long neck and plunges its life into a restless rust.

You creak with finesse, focus with might. You open the waters, shed the metal, and dive right in. What a cold day.

A shaky metal dinosaur looms on the horizon. You can feel its silent rusty growl.

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.