crowded streets sigh,
the two-way traffic
stands still today
and I wonder if
the primaries
and secondaries
of zebra crossings
and traffic lights
are the only colours
that keep you afloat.

(or do big cities
suffocate you?)

our halcyon days
were a hoax of
hollow promises
spray painted on
walls which I have
whitewashed since then.
you see, good lies
are works of art
and I thought I was
a self-made artist.

(was I an imposter,
or a genius, then,
if I believed
my own words?)

tapering skyscrapers
taunt me at sundown,
rooftop rendezvous
sear through my chest.
bitter remorse,
the final course
of every meal,
scorches my tongue,
tied with paper
apologies.

(will four flimsy
letters which take
two seconds to
type suffice, if
I have nothing
more to say?)