Trees are afraid to grow here
and the ones brave enough to do so,
see their branches burn under the sun.
The buildings are every shade of black and grey.
The broken bus seats fill the spaces
Between your ribs and make your skin crawl.
In the winter, the clouds are heavy blankets
that keep you from revelling in your blissfulness.
The rhythm of the rain echoes along the empty streets
and like a scratched CD, it gets stuck there.
You allow the sand grains to fill your shoes.
You allow the fed-up drivers’ shouts fill your head.
You allow the fumes to fill your lungs.
You allow the sun to warm your skin until it’s red.
You allow this place to declare itself your home.
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