The Neon Pulse in My Veins
I used to think this city was just a machine designed to
Alleyway Friend
The Neon Pulse Between Us
I used to think my life was just a series of gray
Golden Hour at the Edge of Everything
I spent three years in a glass office that felt more like
Chlorine Dreams in the Neon City
The city never stops humming, a constant vibration of sirens and subway
Sand in the Bedsheets
I’m used to the concrete hum of downtown—the smell of
Slices of Summer in the Concrete Jungle
The air conditioning was humming its usual tired tune, and I could
The Salt on Your Skin and the Light in My Eyes
I’ve spent three years scrubbing the city's grime off
Saltwater Scars and Sunset Glow
The city doesn't know how to be quiet. It’s
Midnight Salt and the Ghost of Us
The city never really lets you go; it just waits for your
Gold Chains and Concrete Scars
The neon lights of the district always felt a bit too loud,
Embers in the Midnight Salt
The city never really lets you go; it just leaves a ringing
The Golden Hour Between Concrete Walls
The city never really sleeps; it just breathes heavily, a rhythmic pulse