There she lay, still and used. The dark sea lapped around the east of her body, silently being polluted at the gentle touch of her fingertips. In the years I observed her, I knew Sydney was an insomniac, sleepless, and draining. I saw her as a flightless and drowning creature, shuffling with heavy limbs, painted faces, and mindless actions. Her lungs were a wasteland full and clouded with a ghastly darkness unforeseen. The stench of urine, mould and body odour clutched to her pale and sickly skin as she passed through bustling streets. Each morning, warm and bright light awoke her; she would force a deathly kiss against the sun while her old, stretched body towered and shadowed any remaining glow. Her designer grey suit draped against her tall, thin frame, mocking the poverty struck around her. People from all over would come to visit her and in return she gently presses on them, smothering all with nightlife and work that slowly depressed. Her morbid and deceiving smile entranced any who crossed her path as she possessed all who stayed with her. I desperately tried but she, nor her lovers could be saved.
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Elysian
Historia CortaA personal collection of true and fictional short stories and poems. Disclaimer: Contains themes of suicide, death, depression and abuse.
