i could write you letters.
i could re write my head out for you,
in millions and millions of lines
through which you swim.
lately i've been trapped by
this cement brutality;
i have seen myself lost inside a crowd
of cold-stone faces,
but none of them are afraid,
all of these people,
where do they go?
i'm tired of this beautiful city
where no one looks up,
we're filled by this modern apathy
every day a little bit more
our hearts become clouded by our duties;
even if there was a sky above,
what good would it serve
i wish you could see all
of your own dismay,
this destruction aids my journey back to you,
and with each step
in this town,
i know i'm retelling your story
for the sake of rememberance
and i don't think i'll ever let you die.