I wrote this poem with the help of someone named Martha.
Everything in grey is written by her. Everything in white is written by me.
The wind blows the curtains, the rain washes my face
The street lights flicker, a frantic pace
A baby cries, my tears hidden
What will become of this discarded innocence?
Falling slowly to the ground,
Destined to be lost in the ice
Frozen body, frozen time
The streets are cold, and wet with crime
Not water, blood
Am I lost in this chaos?
A scream of brakes
A choir of guns
This nebula of decay
Is this gods secret fantasy?
Or the devil's prose?
My head tilts up
The lanterns have torn the lights out of the sky
The moon is hidden by the endless cry
The peace of a city, it's all a lie
The thunder hammers in the crimson night sky