The dormant streets breathe weakly through
storm drains and clearways like cancerous lungs
As the humid air clings to bodies like layers of duct tape and people walk
in parks like living corpses in a cemetery, in the aimless melange of heat, exhaustion and sweat.
The grass is withering slowly as the celestial cauldron spills;
its contents red like the ****** daggers that smile in men's mouths and blending into some spun heaven metal; orange-gold. Dying concentric circles of heat sweep across the gilded skyline as lights,
like vivid ichors, flow through the veins of a dying sky.
And the air is now sweet with the smell of dried flowers and starlight and the streets breath easily.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
The dormant streets breathe weakly through
storm drains and clearways like cancerous lungs
As the humid air clings to bodies like layers of duct tape and people walk
in parks like living corpses in a cemetery, in the aimless melange of heat, exhaustion and sweat.
The grass is withering slowly as the celestial cauldron spills;
its contents red like the ****** daggers that smile in men's mouths and blending into some spun heaven metal; orange-gold. Dying concentric circles of heat sweep across the gilded skyline as lights,
like vivid ichors, flow through the veins of a dying sky.
And the air is now sweet with the smell of dried flowers and starlight and the streets breath easily.
Mostly composed of fragments. Enjoy and tell me what you think - Roland
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