This city is all the same.
Whether it's your face in the parking lot meeting his, or the beautiful girl across the street lighting up her fifth cigarette of the hour, it's all the same. The clothes you wear, the the hairstyles, gel, car you drive, it's all the same.
You couldn't tell a happily just married man from a desolate teenager. Everyone wears a mask of solitude and misery. The architecture just laughs in your face.
The smell of cheap perfume and second hand smoke never really fades, the exhaust fumes tug at your heart. It seems like no matter what you do, this city will never change and because of it we're all doomed.
The side streets whisper promises while main offers nothing but nightlife and overpriced alcohol. The rain is continuous, and it has to be to wash the sins away. Vultures wait on top of gargoyles. All the while people come and go to work and school, thinking that someday they'll be happy or make something of themselves.
Not in This City.
What am I?
- Jesus
- I’m just a cold face on the street, slow and somber in my patterns. I’m just a friend you’ll never meet, I am the love that never happens. My days exist in meaningless ways, I need a way to shake this; I’m making lost time famous.
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