A Field Trip To Sin City

The cars screeching

The street lights flicker with every sensitive touch

Honks blasting in your ears

You cover them but the explosion is combustible

Wet footsteps tap the ground

Infected with pollution

Every Sinner’s paradise

Disease spreading succubus whores

The Vain who would die if their looks were damaged

Sloths who do nothing to help those in need

Gluttonous holders who can’t help either for those starving

The murders increase with flaming rage

 Gamblers of Wall Street roam

Everyone who dreams, fascinates over a successful other

This is not home

Home should be where your heart is

My heart desires a quite country side

Everything falling from zeal and grace

No one will survive forever in this rotting gray pit

The End

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