The Scent of Concrete and Unspoken Things
The sun clings to the graffiti walls like a damp cloth, smelling
A Blush in the Grey City
I used to believe that city life was meant to be lived
The Golden Hour's Soft Whisper
I felt like a wild sunflower leaning into the late afternoon light,
The Caffeine Pulse of a Dead Star
I walk through the glass corridors of this city, yet my skin
The Last Frame of a Pale Sunday
I stand here as the gallery walls begin to fray at the
The Velvet Anchor in a City of Ghosts
They call me an asset, a living conduit for the Syndicate’s
The Temperature of a Quiet Gaze
I wonder why humans hide their eyes behind dark glass when the
The Last Render of Our First Kiss
I can feel my edges fraying, the sharp resolution of my skin
The Geometry of a Quiet Afternoon
The city never truly sleeps, but here by the river, it seems
The Silver Pulse in a Concrete Heartbeat
They think I am just another ghost haunting the brutalist corridors of
Silver Echoes in a Concrete Heart
The city is loud, but I have learned to be silent.
I
Chrome Hearts in a Rain-Slicked Ruin
The city is just one big, polished scrap heap tonight. Asphalt slick
