A City Called Decay

Copyright © 2018 Atra Mors Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

A City Called Decay

Sun-scorched denizens

hiding in febrile shade

A place of contempt

Where every doorway contains permanent shadows

Paper memorials and decaying flowers

line streets honoring the innocent

and the incessant

Time flows freely for some

like the needle they stick in their arm

For others, time stands still

As still as the torrential

desiccated air

surrounding them at

...bus stops.

...welfare lines.


...funeral marches

Decadence plays the part of

the gullible

the weak-willed



perforated arms beckon empathy

Shame and self-degradation run in

short supply

Blood runs through the gutters

staining the already tainted

debris with apathy

Yet they still kneel

Pray to a non-existent god

in the center of a concrete jungle

A place where your guardian angels

have abandoned you

social commentary
How does it work?
Read next: I Am A Bullet.
A.R. Marquez

Adam Ray Marquez was born and raised in Northern California. 

He writes and publishes Surreal Free Verse poetry, fiction, horror-fiction, and is the Editor-In-Chief at The Dead Walk.

He plays guitar for Held In Scorn.

Instagram = @AtraxMors

See all posts by A.R. Marquez