The night comes to press its shades on my soul and thoughts flicker against the ceiling
I’ve turned into a new man
With idle thoughts
That come again and again
Like the last few leaves
Every end of winter
The past, always
Hanging in silence
Forgive me if I enunciate
For the first time
The creation of a narrator
Or us
Since we all combine and mingle
A million of those
Crowded streets that punch you in the face
Streets can feel so empty
Walking in London
The rain washing the tall statues of the city
I can barely see you
The rattling of the lively dead
Or rain
Blame the rain

Getting clumsier near trains
While crossing the street
Must do better
Listening to my sharp shoes hit the street
Future future
Past past
Echo around me
A pale imitation of dreams
Falls from the sky
And I turn towards
The dark Autumn rain
The beauty we both see
But share alone
What will die today?
Which part, already dusty but still twitching, will Autumn cut?
Future past
Future past

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