Featherweight High Tide
This wretched rain-soaked city will be my death. I’m destined to walk these streets until I give my last breath. My blood is the tar, my body these run-down houses. As the street lights flicker on, my chains to them become more strong. Just walking is all that there is left to do, down the same streets, past the same people who don’t have a f..cking clue.
The cracks in the cement mark my countless faults, only this relentless wind is pushing me on. I can’t help but think how to escape this vault. The restraints of suburban life with its new hair-dos, supermarket cues, and full yet empty church pews. The blocks have me worn.
