The Amber Hour's Quiet Promise
The ice in my glass clicks a rhythmic, lonely song against the
Mint Green Dreams in the Neon Rain
The city doesn't care if you're breaking inside.
The Strawberry Scent of Summer Noon
The asphalt was humming under the weight of a relentless August sun,
Neon Pulse and Pale Silk
The city is a concrete beast, always hungry and never sleeping. I
Azure Whispers in a Concrete Labyrinth
The city is a coarse, gray beast that swallows dreams in its
The Porcelain Sacrifice in Shibuya's Concrete Maw
They call this 'marketing.' I call it an execution. Standing
The Neon Pulse of a Digital Heartbeat
The concrete jungle is my altar, a grey wasteland where the air
The Costume of Contentment
I’m wearing this floral number because it's what he
The Scent of Sun-Drenched Wood
The air smells of roasted beans and old paper. I lean against
The Resonance of Crystal Tears
I descend from the chrome spires and humming circuits of my neon
The Amber Prism of a Quiet Pulse
My heart is no longer the jagged, slate-grey polygon it was in
Salt Air and Second Chances
I spent three years in a concrete box of an apartment, breathing
