A tune of somber, amber-like twinkles mirrors in my eye as I stare into the
glass
I will go write on the beach tonight
Collect my pad and pen…leave the twinkling aura stunned behind the glass
It’s a good night to be me

Out into the cold city night where the air screams and hums in suspended
harmonies of angst
People’s love and hate billow out of the numerous houses in soaking beams of
drenched copper
Into the car

I start the engine
It adds to the city’s dwindling ambience
The city’s sustained mourning
The city is a blow-torched crust, which savors its creamy filling

I will go attempt to write on the beach tonight
But I will be spooked by the angst that’s washed my brain clean and leave
early

 
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