walk beneath a sky of ash,
Where the stars have gone to die,
Pale reflections in puddles of glass,
On streets where the echoes lie.
The air is thick with forgotten dreams,
And whispers of what was lost,
Each step I take in the cold night steam
Feels heavy with the cost.
Neon flickers in fractured hues,
The city’s pulse beats slow,
A million lives with nothing to lose
Drift through the undertow.
The rain falls like tears no one can cry,
A grey, relentless pour,
Washing away the question: why?
But I ask it all the more.
quiet disconnection 