he stared
at the cars far
below him
matchbox vehicles
in shades of
gray and red
hustling through
another day
in a life he
can only imagine

he gave away
his poetry and
his heart
only to find they
weren’t worth
the time she
couldn’t be bothered
to give in return
all he has are
made up stories
for minature souls
thirty floor down

there is a reason
the window are
hermetically sealed
this high up
as he stands
staring at the
cars in stasis
a million lives
in discombobulation
in shells of
gray and crimson


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