© viscosa at deviantart.
Shattered glass. Skeletons
of steel. An unfinished
message, scrawled
on the burnt-out buildings
the trains never pass,
anymore. Your voice
echoing in the blank
space, folding back in
on itself. Twilight; back to
dawn. Light, dancing
nakedly, openly,
in the streets where we
once could have. The
sirens have long since faded
into the gray. The view
from this bridge
is no longer beautiful. Oxygen.
Neon. Underground.
(Keep this secret.)
--
So, hi. For those who don't know me: Miki (female, Japanese-Australian), seventeen, a reasonably-proud inhabitant of the city of Melbourne. Assuming this blog is updated more than once, I foresee it being home to a mishmash of my poetry, photography, artwork, and half thought-out musings. It's lovely meeting you.
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