The medicine store fluorescents hum a tired tune,
casting the street in shades of sickly green.
Another night, another joint, another cartoon
playing on the screen – a laugh track, obscene.
The cashier, a girl with eyes like chop-chopped china,
rings up my purchase, barely a glance my way.
Outside, the wind whispers secrets to the pusher,
secrets I already know, secrets that decay.
Back in my room, the roaches scatter like filings,
a symphony of clicks on the cracked tiles floor.
The amber nugget burns a familiar fire, fillings
the uselessness with a bittersweet roar.
No dreams tonight, just the hum of the city’s thrum,
sirens wailing a lullaby off-key.
This concrete jungle’s my lullaby, glum,
a symphony of despair, just for me.