An Untitled Scribble…

The leaden streets that I have roamed,

call out to me from time to time,

questioning me,
as I crawl on my knees,

blinded by the garish ostentation on display,

deafened by the raucous cackle of the crowd,

my mouth sewn shut,

while a million tongues wag,

I am tired,


as I continue to drag,

this husk of a man,
broken and torn,


dreading phantom horrors,

the morrow may spawn.