Passive Science Fiction.

{eternal city LIMITS}

1.

neon images ripple across glass flooring of obsidian
smokey atmosphere fills the spaces in between things and it saturates the world --
towering cylinders loom in the ever-dark skies;
the disenfranchised wallow an unlife in the permanent shadows unseen.
filth covers everything --
suffocating reminders of a horrid cosmic caste.
rats nest into palatial monuments of refuse unaware;
hope is a luxury.
the sky is an alley between man made valleys, electrical wires are clinging sinew
pin points of light streak across smog highways untouchable to those below
sickly green fluorescents stammer morse along the streets
the unheard beat of a dying metro-heart.
sickness is for the low parts of the concrete paradise in blackness.
on the unseen horizons it is said lies a castle of glass
far above the ash of low lives, blue skies reign and white clouds abound
to escape for even a moment...
a fortune's worth of anything and possibility.
and below lies the dirty neon obsidian relic of a life gone by and forgotten
the world above in dreams and no one ever sleeps.

2.

she never sleeps and she doesn't care
she eats people whole.
no light remains in her blackening heart
and her residents are sickly mirrors of her intentions.
at night sometimes she weeps acid tears
and the foundations of her once great elegance erode.
sometimes when it’s almost light in the sky she remembers
who she used to be
full of promise.
but then the clouds come and she screams out in blackness alone.
her children they know she is dying
their lives an extended funeral procession.
greedily she holds onto them
an embrace so absolute only some are strong enough to flee.

3.

she can never die.
she can only twist into a nightmare visage
horrible and corrupt.
she is a mirror of her parasites.
one day all will turn to dus
except for her,
the tragedy of eternity.
a mutated version of paradise lost
and hell redeemed.

While On Walkabout...