There is fog here,

I cannot see.

They seem to whisper

­­­­The world to me.

I walk around

Shrouded in a cloak,

Made not of fur

But of my own fears.

This is a city so bleak

That it can strangle you,

As you sleep,

Not turning back once,

So vibrant but desolate.

A frozen, empty smile,

Thousands of glittering faces,

­False hopes, fake promises.