That second it was not you

Gray on gray as the shadow of the buildings gagging on a street in New York winter. Neither the tumult, noise, severe city dramas harbor you, metal speed corrupts the faces reflected in the aluminum rail passenger wagons, too much traffic, not a feeling.

Multiple languages, endless stories, structures of structures, lights, silhouettes that still fail silencing the echoes of a very recent funeral, half skeletons, half dead, partially alive.

Everyone wanted a bite of the apple but did not know was loaded with cyanide, cement and many torments.

Almost none knew when to celebrate as was ready to leave at that very moment, leaving as heroes defeated by rear doors as dark lights off from dressing rooms, as forgotten puppets in some drawer of this failure circus.

You do not understand the camouflage so neither logos nor signs that explain carefully where you are or how to get where you go, you realize at the last second it was not you.

Black coats, dark brown, smoke comes out of the mouths hurried station after station, everyone watches, scarves chained monochromatic patterns emerging.

Snow subtle, light, hurtful, appalling whiteness stifling carrier density, skin and bone cutter.

Look away, climb the highest high view, look inside beings of darkness that were people for a moment.

Purple water directed by unseen currents and unnoticed force choke you suddenly without asking, being at their mercy.

Spider web city, net, trap-place, and history of liberty captive, sound of hatred.

Cynical proverb, unpaid tax.