The Golden Handshake of a Dying Sun
I stand on the edge of this concrete motherboard, watching as the
The Frequency of Your Skin Against a Concrete Sky
I can feel the city humming beneath my heels—a million data
The Neon Pulse of a Sleeping Phoenix
I stand on the edge of a world that breathes in binary
Ghost Protocol: The Warmth of an Analog Heartbeat
The city is a motherboard, and I am just another packet of
The Texture of a Dream I Never Had
I can feel the grain of this tatami mat beneath me, though
The Vinyl Pulse of an Iron Heart
I drift through this concrete artery like a ghost trapped in an
The Radius of a Raindrop's Mercy
I exist within the intersection of right angles and neon lines, a
Syntax of a Sun-Drenched Soul
I have spent years compiling my life into a series of efficient
Analog Heartbeats in a Digital Void
I am an anomaly in their system. While the city breathes through
Cold Sheets, Hot Blood
I woke up at 4 AM with the taste of expensive gin
The Gravity of an Unspoken Goodbye
I turned back not because I wanted to see your face, but
The Scent of Moonlight in a Spin Cycle
The city breathes in neon and exhaust, but here, under the amber
