City Sick
Scratched metal, tire screech stabs the ear canal. It's the sound of how they all move past the concrete building skeletons that build themselves from the inside out. The sad clash of trees and industrial metal beams. They're higher than them (the beams not trees) and they will reign the sky over the lungs of green. I'm tired of the suffocation. The asphalt sickness coughing on cigar exhaust pipes. The noise of men's scraping metal, trying to Tetsuo-fuck me. I'm not impressed. The night makes it worse, as this city's fleas infest corridors and corners, until the dust mites settle into your house from the windows. Let me hide in tress and take the perch of a bird just so I can breathe.