Look at what I have become,

A lethargic creature deprived of all dreams.

Crawling on the rough seas of concrete,

blistered, and wounded, and full of such raw depression.


Prowling through the fog,

in obscure alleys, colder than the tainted windows of my soul.

In the night when the moon stalks me,

in the night when tears flow heavier than the weight on my shoulders.


I have become invisible and dormant,

creating tornadoes filled with the dandelions that carry all my wishes,

left only with the wise trees to talk to,

and I hear nothing but whispers of the leaves in their indifferent responses.