This city feels tame. Silent and still – a dead man’s eye staring at the universe. The streets are cold in the night – a complex arrangement of decomposing words.
The silence grows loud. It all feels like a dream: i’m a fly gazing the stars reflected on this lifeless cornea. My thousand eyes can see shadows, silhouettes from another time, like rats abandoning a disintegrating structure. Yet the dancing shadows are nothing but spiders, crawling from beneath, trying once again to weave their webs inside my mind.
I shake my head, trying to repel them from my thoughts. It’s been too long since they were nesting inside me, for too long I let them infect my essence. I am not my spiders, neither am I the fly stuck in the trap.
I am not my shadow, I am not my fears, even if that it’s all you can see. This city is dying, but I will be far gone into the sunrise when it’s bones will crumble.