The highway did it's best to carry me to the center city
Old industrial labrynths had become my home
The sensation is built of rejection and shame it is exile
wastelands and warehouse space
The cities warm cafes and need for attention
as desperate as today grouped narcisists
sufferers whose misery found words and pages
wanting to be someone
highway bridges positioned over the hundred suburbs
bathed in light coming from the highest lamposts
unnaturely high and lofty pointing the way
yet unattainable
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