welcome to my city,
in which fog spreads melancholy
and rain is restless yet lazy.
angels and demons live side by side,
on the edge of a sharp knife.
peace exists under the sun
so nighttime is wartime
but beware; for shady alleys at any time
are battle grounds full of mines.

(i asked a flower and
she swore on all the little mistakes in my city
that it was angels who planted those mines.)

welcome to my city,
in which some boys are too ugly
with their dusty faces and grey knives,
and some girls can't be pretty,
with their black knees and shallow eyes.
in which some boys are too pretty.
with their nice clothes and dead souls,
and some girls can't be ugly,
with their shiny hair and million rules.

(i asked a little mistake
and he swore to me on all living souls in my city
that he shall never become ugly or pretty.)

welcome to my city,
in which flowers bloom in trashcans
the way the moon does amongst the fog,
and green plants grow in the corners
the way little breathing mistakes do,
but the plants turn out to be poisonous,
and the mistakes are hopeless children
with broken hearts; they're dangerous,
with an excessive sense of fearlessness.

(i asked an ugly girl
and she swore to me on all the restless droplets of rain
that half of those mistakes will always be afraid.)

welcome to my city,
in which you can find:
children and flowers in trashcans,
angels and demons in a constant fight,
setting up mines in shady alleys
where the ugly boys and pretty boys lurk,
waiting patiently for the moon to shine,
and for girls who are neither ugly nor pretty to show,
and for the melancholic fog to settle down.

(welcome to my city,
in which we all have been waiting for you.
i asked an angel and a demon
and they both swore to me on all the humans in my city
that you're a god.
and gods. don't. cry.
you're our saviour.
we can start off by removing the mines,
and making sure that the sun remains alight.)

—