White crystal sparkles behind a veil of smog and soot. From the streets, she sees the stars cough. They are sad, lonely treasures, loved only for their use. And she has none. Clogged and congested, they twinkle feebly.
They may not belong in the city, but she belongs nowhere. The cold, clinical certainty tightens her chest. As it does, flecks of wet iron settle in her body, a familiar leaden gloom she should be use after the years.
Dirty, dusty exhaust eats the dainty star-crystals.
Written: 13 Feb 2016
Inspired: feeling of the morning