metropolitan

Do not compare a sleeping city to a whispering room. The murmurs are nails against chalkboard in the underwater-like silence of the quiet mind. The metropolis swallowed in the white noise of the rumblings subways below and the cars scraping at the concrete above; leave the area monotone and bleak.

Washing machines like Ferris wheels gone haywire, leaving ears ringing worse than the car horns of feisty taxi drivers. The tension of a silent room, cut by the sharp call of hidden cicadas intertwined between the leaves of the woods. The rhythm of the leaking faucet in the dreary corner bumps in the brain like a heartbeat. A heartbeat like that of a character created at the hands of Edgar Allen Poe; a man driven to insanity by the noise both outer and in.

The creak of the floorboards are enough to make one jump in the fear that they're being followed and watched.

Broadway streets incomparable to the random offs and ons of the outdoor air conditioning unit. The whir of the wind within the motor of the mechanisms rise and fall randomly and unmeasured.

Soon, I'll be driven to madness by the orchestra of my senses. And in the end, the orchestra of my sou that holds no conductor.

~ 𝒾𝒻𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 ~