I was assigned to the city—
a broken toy
no one wanted.
The screams,
the whispers through tears,
prayers that don’t have the faith of a flea,
the simple math of remorse,
flagging taxis in the rain.
I stand with impotent eyes,
watch with empty pockets
under the neon jazz.
I want to bleed,
to tumble into irreverent choices.
Feel something real—
cold cement,
aching feet.
I want their importance.
The sour taste of failure
on their tongues.
The scorching desire
of love.
I grab at the heat from the streetlight,
the tears and celebrations that don’t need me.
I could come down, join the chaos—
but I turn my back.
There’s no danger in watching,
though it tastes like decay.