drain pipe love storm,
gutter romance,
manhole man whore.
flushing our emotions down the drain
letting them bubble in waste.
punch drunk, coughing up blood
leaking red onto the pavement.
bleeding, branching colour into a black and white nothing
it twists and turns, congealing into an urban art form.
ignorance floats along a river of sin,
it's called the new york city effect,
washing a generation of hell down a street.
the sewers carry more of our past than history books,
the streets are littered with more art than the louvre.
and we're slaves to this high contrast kind of love,
the streetlights fake a caring glow over the city,
the broken bottles punctuate an existence of pity.
and the drain pipes shake,
during a love storm.
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