The floor below her seems to engulf her feet tight,

As she observes the failed hot-air balloons teeming from the sky which were nothing but her own disputes,

And the navy-blue aura through the broken city,

The city that was once her childhood

That she had complete regime over.  

A glass jar lies between her feet that she hesitates to pick up,

As she knew deep down that she was the only one who heard the voices pounding against the glass, yelling and hollering.

The voices that she drowned out with the deafening sound of her own laugh and others.

The glass jar held an analog clock with several hands,

Each of them rested on a number for a merely a fraction of a second.

The city was abandoned to entities from sameness, who were nothing but ignorant.

Bridges that rest above her head showed no friction and all the hustle.

Rumpled skyscrapers passed the clouds, claiming their credit.

Trees failed to hold their colors, but branches held themselves out, steadily.  

The city meant ecstatic for others, but to her eyes, it was home.

The truth plunges into her heart, that she would embrace her broken city-

If it weren’t for the denser judgment of the sameness buried within.

When the dark nights turn to fruitful dawns,

When the unconditional love turns to utter burden,

The once sumptuous city subsided to what it is now.

Delicate lights flicker against the city,  

As she uses the faint sunlight that is let through the fence to make her way,

The same sunlight which cakes on layers of superficialness,

As she steps out the city and into the world of sameness,

To cede her exhilaration that the broken city can never hold within itself.