a mumbled frenzy continues to grow in the underbelly of this city. these scattered brains and empty eyes of hollow bodies too young to die have never had a say in their destiny. their misfortune was fated from the start.
the days are a withering flame, bodies never in a standstill, the shuffling of feet on the street swept away until it’s a faraway echo ready to be squashed by the creeping sunset.
the nights are a balloon frozen in mid-explosion — and there’s always a hungry fist waiting around to crush it. the fist is patient, willing to bide its time, willing to dance its fingers across the fractured crystals starting to disperse outwards. but it is careful when doing so, lest it allows the sharp icicles to pierce its flesh.
“no, not yet,” the fist says. “not now.”
this fist is calculating; the fist is playing a chess game against everyone, and everyone doesn’t know it yet — and they won’t know until the almighty chill hits them. but by then, it’ll be too late.
this city is never at peace, hardly a moment goes by without some sense of unease. the people are on edge. the people are waiting for something else to fall apart the way it always does.
i move in the dark, below the rays of the moon. i watch dreams collapse on the sidewalks, only for nightmares to emerge out of the sewers with a sinister howl. i am as tied to this city as my soul is tied to this body of mine.
i clean the mess. it is my duty. no one needs to know why i do it, or that it’s me who’s doing it. all they need to know is that someone is doing it. some one.
i stuff the nightmares into my pockets, in between my fingers, under my nails, up my nostrils, below my tongue, behind my ears, anywhere that i can, anywhere that isn’t out there. out there these nightmares can stroke panic; in me, they can only deepen the abyss. and from the abyss, my vengeance grows.
the nightmares are relentless, but they’re single-minded. with enough time, i barely notice them anyway. this city needs a shred of hope. maybe i can be the one, some one, to bring it back.