The past is shedding it’s skin
It roams the street at night,
Collecting the remnants of a stupid dream
The city is alive, it feeds off your anxiety,
As you languish in the bright glow of neon lights;
The music moves your body but not your soul
Soon forgotten and replaced
By your condescending inner voice
Growing accustomed to insipidity,
You drown yourself in tiny screens
And try to capture the present,
Lest all of it dissolves into the night


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