The world makes me small, the city smaller.
Food turns to ash and wine becomes water.
Nobody can survive what the world has fallen.
Nobody can make easy, what is already harder.
In painful pulses, it weights above my head.
There is no one to talk to,
bloodstream turns sour, my heart already bled,
as friendships are not what they sought to.
It bleeds out, my words lingering in air.
But nobody stops to smell the roses,
with pride and with utmost care.
Not what he has, but whatever he choses.
It makes everything disposable,
wanting to connect but unable to.
Phone screens makes everything unapproachable
as our youth, too soon has been taken too.
