Monday, December 19, 2011

In the mountainous regions of the heart/the city lay dying..

The motions of the streets are making me sick. And the unkind and disastrous. And the people are mindless, or of no mind at all. But I can't help but see the whitewalls of the back alleys of society. The glowing gestures of but a few are forever ingrained on the complex neurons of the electrical patterns of the brain. And I tend to wander, if not incomprehensibly. The streets start to pile up with the people of the dead. as the cars do choke on themselves. And the buildings have all but raised there hands in some accordance to the closer I get to god. The perhaps better I may be.but Its getting hard for me to walk these streets anymore. As the city she gets smaller. With all the people at my feet. And the cold walls of concrete feel lonely. As I pass through this world as a ghost, a spirit, a figment of ones imagination. Walking through the disobedient walls of the structures of man, and woman alike. So another day has past, where god has not spoken, or has fallen just on deaf ears. Or maybe I have been not listening. And the end of the day seems so far away, a mass of confusion. With fits of clarity, and haze. But the world is what we make of it, or so it seems. The little patches of grass that accompany the street seem out of place now. The trees are distant, and the silence of the air is mystifying. And its time to go back home, to fall back out of this world. But the sun in the sky is beautiful, at the end of the day.

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