Sleeping through subterranean dreams.
Beneath streets, paved in gold,
that brightly gleam.
Ghosts wail as they rush,
screeching in the underground gloom.
Seeping, slivering into every pore.
Tired brains turned to mush,
we dream of so much more.
We breathe acrid smoke.
The scent of grease, oil,
dusty lungfuls make you choke.
Stale sweat from hours of toil.
Angry tunnels swallow us whole.
Hungrily devouring
mind, body and soul.
Under metropolitan monstrosity,
through tunnels we speed.
In rigid compliance
zombies with cricked necks,
inspect phones, held tightly in check,
in deathly silence.
Utter a word, mutter under your breath,
this feels like death,
feels like Mind subsidence.
Under the spell, wheels turning.
Churning the stale air,
deep in the rumbling, monsters lair.
Down where the pits of hell
join the lakes of despair.
Snatched glances shared,
no space to spare,
sweaty limbs stretch everywhere.
Roots of dead trees.
Ingesting sickness and disease.
Through these grim, old tunnels,
we race.
No slowing down or change of pace.
Our lives encased
in these tube-shaped cells.
Like moths pressed and displayed in a case
in the museum of this living hell.
Never again to see the blue sky
or taste the clean air,
above this underground nightmare.
Thanks for reading
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