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,
exhausted,
as I continue to drag,
this husk of a man,
broken and torn,
while,
dreading phantom horrors,
the morrow may spawn.