Alabaster girders suspended by pulpy flesh
Held together by fluid, humours and will
You are the architect, designs drawn, plans made
I am the overused network of subway tunnels
Cracked walls, broken tracks, repairs unfinished
Dead-eyed drones bustling from place to place
Not knowing why they go to where they go or
Even knowing what to do once they get there
A purpose left suspended in their empty minds
I am the electrical wiring, exposed in certain places
Cobalt-blue electricity leapfrogging rubber insulation
Cables stapled to the wall at uneven intervals
Different eras of wiring on top of one another
Removal is much harder than just packing
New on top of old and praying that nothing explodes
I am the rusty pipes, pumping water from home to home
Carrying the waste away and pouring out the clean
But there is only so much I can do to make fresh
What has rotted from disrepair, abuse, apathy, greed
Skeleton City is dying.
The girders crack.
The tunnels collapse.
The wiring ignites.
The pipes burst.
The drones all die.
I am the structure, left alone
The streets are empty
The lights are dark
I am order without purpose
The night sky is choked with smog
I can not see the stars
Poetry Overdose 