Urban jungle—watch the people struggle to just get by
Everybody seems to be on the fly
Driving here and driving there
Look at all the people everywhere
Rushing to work
Everyone's kind of a jerk
Rushing to school
So, they won't be a fool
Here we go! Peddle to the metal
No time to sit down, or settle
No time to waste
As you gulp down and barely taste
Your hamburger and fries
Hear the cars screeching cries
Darkness comes, but the city never does sleep
On look, the many well-lit windows, their eyes that creep
Where is the grass? Oh...there is none!
On they drive, will noise ever be quiet and done?
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. Aspiring licensed mental health counselor. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor5 days ago in Fiction
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