Apple of my Eye
The heart of a city is sick and blue. Its streets are stricken with arrythmia too. The beats are uneven from lack of grass. Its grates on cement walks seep out gas. The high rise scrapers hide the sun and its bleeding heart is on the run. But it can't escape. The smog's too thick. It's falling apart brick by brick. The heart of a city is being squeezed and it cries aloud for it can't be eased. Sign in to see full entry.