A streetlamp is buzzing—
like a clumsy beetle,
it blooms amidst gloom,
an electric sun illuminating
the city’s lost sons.

One solitary figure stands beneath it,
bathed in dim solitude,
burning up a cigarette
like his life, chasing quick pleasure
before it all goes to black.

A chill wind breezes—
carrying the street’s grim stench,
putrid reek of dead dreams,
and the bitter slurry tears.

Claws crawl their way
into the halo on the pavement,
enticing nightmares on the mind,
screaming like horns of impatient drivers.
But the light keeps buzzing,
brighter and brighter.

He flicks the cigarette into the road,
turns his back and walks into the dark
that will lead to another path,
even if it means fading to black.