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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required ` I opened the rusted iron gateway bound in chain and wire, to find a landing caked in muddied footprints, scattered about like roaches Magpie shadows course the rain soaked streets and puddle patterns reflect temptation as light flickers from second floor moan filled parlors, painted nails scratching Navigating the fog entrenched alley, garbage bins fallen create a maze of skinned shins and bloodied lips when I come to an arched opening, only hinges remain The staircase up is dark, creaking under my weight I count the holes collected in plaster walls yawning, prior frustrations showing no mercy The stench of tar and factory waste wallows, catching me stumbling through the opening to the roof, gasping in the ever thinning air Dark clouds retaliate for earlier lost days when stale bread pudding was a treat served to those of less fortunate standing What life is this to lead anyway, empty pockets and hand me down promises, watching shadows below taking chances and knocking up opportunities Red door, black door, be careful which you choose, for one color leads to the lower city, the underground where opium flows like crazed sewage The other holds within sexual fantasies and red lipstick smudges, but beware when jiggling those tarnished handles with your best foolish grin, the cost is what you can't afford to lose Swine roam the busy square freely, splurging on last night’s tossed garbage, grunting approval in an off key symphony of stringless digestion, slobbering regurgitation beyond the blinded eyes of the others lost indefinitely within themselves Street lamps spit hot oil through fractured glass dripping onto the formal evening wear and diamond brooches worn by the elite, making their way to the opera house where marble steps are lined with evergreen topiaries losing needles to the addicts of the night A carriage passes, glazed eyes peer from lace curtains, hidden hands roam freely the velvet seats and occupants, as painted wheels follow ruts in the worn cobblestone Smoke spews from stained brick chimneys and cracking mortar discoloring the moon and choking stars with a filth to be reckoned with I sit on this rooftop alone, looking down, scarred legs dangling over the edge four flights up, wondering if anyone would care if I jumped When startled by a noise behind me, footsteps perhaps I turn to see the beautiful silhouette of a woman, flowing hair, hand extended, "I would," she whispers...
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