Disorderly, solitary thoughts spoken in darkness

A busy week, something unexpected burst out from the routine. Uncertain on what is expected tomorrow, the day after and next week. Though recent days have left that annoying imprint, scattered about on one thought to another. Swirling, perhaps, clashing, yes. Jumbled, even as I try to sort out the pained memories from the raw sensations.
The streets, the pain lingering on those bent backs and tired limbs. I hide, away from the bitter sunlight, half expecting the slums to consume me whole, into the merciless darkness. Poverty, oh twisting poverty, that damned feeling of neglect.

Strained dry eyes, they stare at tattered hanging moldy curtains. Voices, at a distance, fade away. War on the streets, vicious nightmares revisiting as old souls seek an end to the dazed existence. Survival of the wretched, the poor are still neglected in this oh so great city, a metropolis of beggarism, a realm of visiting ghastly memories.

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