City life
Learn more about other poetry terms
No sleep.
No water.
Dry mouth seems to be the onluy taste available.
No reach or want for what is close.
Only hardships are available.
Thee isn't much around in this deserted place we call home.
Bus people really have a lot of time to think.. Weary, they are always on the brink of knowing what's it's all about. Bumping, heaving, sleeve-to-sleeving their way to work. Yearning to be back in bed, learning they are spiritually dead.. And all
What does it take to stay awake
And not hate
Every eye that passes by
Makes me wonder if they try
Or do they categorize
My kind within wicked lies
As if every time a brother dies
You came like storms in a drought.
Perfectly wild.
I come from where the sky is always yellow and the fruits grow upside down.
Your soul in particular, like mangos, I steal a taste whenever I find time to browse.
Just yesterday, I abandoned my antisocial ways
In exchange for a life of misery and failure
This damn New York traffic keeps preventing me from acquiring any precious sleep
A city thats on the list for being one of the worse places to live
You hear gunshots and police sirens every night,
