beneath the city of lights

August 6, 2014

the floors are littered with the bones of man,
the tunnels rotting with guilt.

i am blind and trudging through tunnels
of drenched sea bones and broken bottle souls,
of starved street rats and victorian princesses,
of the living who pitied themselves
at the sight of so much decay.

Paris isn’t terribly forgiving
to the dead.

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