Ticking Wound 


The city is not what they claim it to be 

People are not what they seem to be. 

Sadness doesn’t last forever 

And happiness is not a reality 

Erasing memories is difficult 

More difficult is when people just get up and leave 

Life is short, as they all say 

So why does each second passing by feels like an open wound 

Just waiting to bleed out. 

City has people, walking it’s paths 

Crosses and intersections

Buildings turned into homes 

Life breathed into the concrete jungle

And without them, the city will fall. 

Love is not as blissful as the stories claim it to be 

It’s sadness and longing mixed into one. 

The utter bother of it all, breaks the heart into two. 

Just like time, a ticking wound. 

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