Rotting

This community makes me think.

Gang warfare surrounds me. Blood runs thick in these suburban-ghetto streets. When I walk down near Oldetown, I can see just how badly these people suffer. I can see the homeless and the broken sitting out on street corners, in alleyways, behind stores, and searching through dumpsters. It only seems to get worse every year.

This town is rotting. Its heart is turning to black. It’s rotting from the inside out, and so are we.

I walk everywhere. I see it everywhere. From the dirty, gray streets to the perpetually gray sky… it’s Winter in this place, and it’s never going to end.

Or maybe I’m just personifying this city with my heart. Maybe it’s my heart that’s black. Maybe I’m the one who’s dying inside. Yeah, I think that’s it. I think I’m the dying man. The only one.

If I could take over this city and make things better for it I would. If I could save it I would. But how can I save anyone if I can’t even save me, albeit from my very self?

Why do I think like this. Why am I so dramatic. I’m just another fucking kid.


I’m born. And I’m living. Or I’m dead. What the fuck kind of difference does it make?