Or better strangle..
This City is dead.
So are the Voices. Of Empathy, connection and togetherness.
The song from the Flute has lost its tune.
Migratory birds now quench for a map.
Roads are dusty, vision is choked.
I am dying a slow painful death.
Where I cannot find you.
Drown me, make me mad, Haunt me.
But come back.
I am You.