my city

she sleeps on a bed of crumbled brick and stone. her veins flow with the last of the late night workers. they move through the roads with the sound of channeled wind, guided by eyes of white light. the city is restless. she is frail, yet young. wanting to show her beauty to everyone who may peak at it. under the cover of night she glints and glows with various lights of green, orange, red and blue. her make up. enticing all to gaze apon her, to take part in what she may have on offer. but as the sun lights her face from the east. the night disappears, and takes with it the cities masking colours. revealing the truth about her. misused and abused. weathered by years of neglect. she is scarred by the same people who love her. who feed her. who move through her veins. she is alive, trying to regenerate, but still only a shadow of what she once was.