People are walking tall, on streets which aren’t unknown to them,

Sadly, I merely know them, 

I fear my wrecked reflection will be snubbed,

Under these faux scintillating lights,

Striving hard to lighten the inky corners of,

My paralysed heart,

Every single evening I walk the same path, 

I encounter strong laments,

Contused feet never protest walking on crowded streets,

Filled with fancy twinkling thorns, slitting the bruised cords,

Of soul,

Is this the irony of love? Or the beauty of death,

Neither, his judas kiss let my essence breathe,

 Nor, his amity warmth my anatomy.