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A slow tempo pulling you inside.
The cries of a lover finding their existence in the push of a plunger.
A proposition to a girl who knows she shouldn’t be here, yet the invisible chains around her ankles never fade.
You keep walking down the street.
Looking, looking, looking.
The people poor from their muddy dreams out into the city.
Your eyes search the drawn windows of the leaky brick rectangles.
Whispers of brighter futures just down the alley appear in your ears, you keep walking.
Lost, lost, lost.
You can smell the alcohol on almost everyone who falls on you now.
The alleys start to look safer, while the trees grow thinner and thinner.
The mixed words of god and revolution appear on every not-walked-on surface.
Surrender, surrender, surrender.
Then she falls into the street, her limp body rolling off black trash bags.
You scream, you run, you’re too late.
Her eyes are looking at something far off; three small holes, still bleeding, are sewn on her arm.
Guilt, guilt, guilt.
And you hold her, you weep, you refuse to believe.
Eyes wandering, you find the light flickering just inside the doorway.
The sound of laughter and illusions roll down the stairs.
A knife glistens silver under the streetlight.
Rage, rage, rage.