cities.

lately,

you're seeing the lines of these streets mapped out in your veins.
(& those others, like intersections -
as though that's some kind of justification.) it's become more about acceptance now;
after all, it's YOUR skin. it's YOUR brain.
your own fault, your own pain; & jesus, you're still wrapped up in this.
so now the sewers look like arteries & the bridges look like scars

yeah, it's the details you remember.

'cause suddenly, today, you're acutely aware
of that bloodclot in your chest, of your breath in the air;
oxygen to carbon dioxide - how the fuck am i doing this ?
am i supposed to know this ? is god gonna be testing me on this ?

skin tones fading,
nervous system sparking,
tectonic plates of muscle; it all builds up to something.

so now i'm looking at maps through magnifying glasses,
panicking through microscopes. something went wrong at a cellular level,
& i'm wondering; who the fuck engineered this ? who approved it ?
your slide rule is fucked, god. you're off the contract.

surely there's a plane of skin where i can start again.

'cause the underground here's toxic, and the networks here have failed
they don't filter out the poisons that this city has inhaled: the disease is spreading.
i see you dressed in hospital lights. & the wound itches - i'm leaving -
i'll stay when the fences stop looking like stitches
we bleed out through these streets 'til the skyscrapers pale.

clocktower a pacemaker,
highway a spine;
from a distance, you see the topography flatline.