The following is the direct result of a dream I had recently about a place called 'Step City' which was full of uneasy people but was completely silent, except for the noise of footsteps.
Raven wings massage the tip of a bright white sun erased by haze.
I am starved of stars in this city.
Inhaling without contemplation, surviving without sustenance on poisoned air.
The parks are a sea of people, all trying to eat nature
Until there is nothing left to feed on.
A city of heat and hurry, no rawness, only impurity.
In a grey building, gloves are placed on,
My final meal, two hours later,
Is nothing more than stomach contents on an autopsy table.
I belong to the city now.
My undesired energy cut out of my system.
As I walk the city streets, I am sure I am screaming,
Yet only my footsteps leave an echo.
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