Coerced from a time spent placid and warm,
to find a glass heart dead in the streets.
This congregation of atoms
would never understand the reason it was left to decay.
It only knew slow disintegration in the wake of a concrete sea.
Emotional bliss
was something left to business towers.
Tall and content,
cold and alone.
The gutter was it's sung song,
chipped away in the passage of time.
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