Vines grow wild here

Twisting into windows

Over the rooftops

And through the dreams of the city dwellers

Who know nothing other than these vines

That suck the air dry of its vitality

And the life from their souls.

For, to them, nothing is out of the ordinary

To gasp for their next breath

To sleep fitful nights

Of stifled nightmares

To live days bound in these organic chains.

For this is the city that squeezes dry

Every ounce of life force

Until it leaves you on the precipice

Of life and death.