The Neon Afterglow of a Forgotten Promise
I stand here, leaning against the cold glass of a digital billboard
Antique Box
The Indigo Hour Between Two Heartbeats
I walk through this corridor of light and shadow, my geta clicking
The Amber Hour of Forgotten Sighs
I have always lived in the periphery of my own life, like
The Humidity of Forgotten Promises
The city outside is a blur of indigo and rain, weeping against
The Scent of Rain on an Old Silk Dress
I have always felt like a ghost haunting my own life, drifting
The Amber Light of a Forgotten Afternoon
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in this glass-and-steel city,
The Blue Prism of Yesterday’s Salt
I have spent three years in a city that tastes of exhaust
The Salt-Stained Epilogue of Us
I have always felt like a relic found in the wrong century,
The Cold Dew of a Summer Noon
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in the wrong century,
The Indigo Echo of a Forgotten Summer
I have always felt like a relic misplaced in the rush of
The Fragile Weight of a Springtime Promise
I have always felt like an artifact misfiled in a digital age—
The Salt-Stained Silence of Us
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in a glass city—
