I return to the city and it takes 24 hours to put my armor on. I don't want to carry the weight. But it's shut out or shut down in a town full of frown.
Suffering screamers slink down the sidewalk throwing nervous spikes into my ears. My heart does a loud double tap until I see what's happening. Another soul blowing in the wind. Their consciousness splits into one more piece each unsafe hard night on the cement. The rising sun vaporizes it and blows it through the city, making each resident a little more rushed.
Productivity hamster wheels weep wealth through the calloused hands of weathered workers. So rushed that the movement makes the roads rumble and tempers tumble into hands on horns. Rushing so fast the world becomes the edges of tunnel vision and when not in prison they need screens to funnel vision out of focus and focused on stimulation and a snowball of distraction disease.
It's hard to be a whole human when you watch the soul slumped on the concrete possibly dead. Speaking in tongues a daily occurrence with no church in sight. Ghosts and ghouls account for hole of spirit with meth plus no sleep.
Infernal boiling alleys host reading rainbow of experience. The relaxed charm of laid back reading on carpet quickly punctured with hunched on chair, needle in bloody arm.
How many people can my heart witness committing slow-motion suicide?
Those poor unfortunate souls wither away with no voice, which of us makes that choice? I've seen a twenty-something, every day for years, living a 24 hour alley life.
Old lady screaming and crying in pain on daily route passing our warm loving home.
Does my witnessing help or should I help myself to less distressing yelp? I have but one soul I can make happier, the rest must choose for themselves.
I have a cup of water, not a hydrant, but what does it do to live in a city full of locked burning buildings? When to fight and when to rest and when to be best or be like the rest?
Should I move to Less Pressure In Chest?
Should I live where the screams are from hawks, where you build not smoke rocks, not people in box, rumbles not from Big Rigs but waves and leaves, highway hum replaced by wind in the trees?
My soul knows the answer is yes, yet Capitalism says I have not completed the test.
Time will tell what the Red Tailed Hawk carries with the wind and if I can breathe out as long as the Sycamore breathes in.
