This Crazy City


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 The city lights dims out. Night's over. The darkness fades away, hiding from the first sun rays, lurking, waiting.

In the morning, that’s when I see things that others don't see. I sense things others can't feel.

The gents come out of their nests, blurred eyes by the night's dreams. It was this city, giving them some rest, before it resumes the life sucking, as a leech in a puddle of black, dirty mud.

And then they start their march, roaming, towards nowhere. 

All of this beauty its only a shadow to their eyes, for they walk with them pasted down, only seeing the dark, grey sidewalk.

 They don't know where to they are walking, or the path they're taking, without seeing, without feeling.

And I wonder why do they want to miss all this things? Why do they look away to this light, the darkness, the dim and the night...?

Ok, I know that I'm not from here, that I can see things other people can’t see, silk cotton they can’t even imagine. I can see it with other eyes, or true eyes.

But, although a boy who has came out of his mother's womb should he not look at her with the same loving eyes?

But, that's not about those things I want to talk about, the things about the day, the awakening. 

I want to talk about the things I see at night, ‘the time to go to bed’. 

I want to show you the things lurking in the dark corners, things that come alive, the things peeking in the shadows, while everyone is sleeping, swallowed in their hollow dreams. 

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