High buildings,

full streets,

screaming cars,

neon lights flickering like restless stars.

So many stories,

so many lives—

but none that know your name.

People rush like clockwork,

children wail,

men curse,

women carry the weight of a world that never stops.

Stress.

Hate.

A circus of strangers,

faces you’ll never see again,

conversations cut off mid-sentence—

no time for hello,

no space for goodbye.

No hands reach out to the homeless.

No hearts left soft enough to care.

Reckless.

Mean.

The city breathes pollution,

its lungs clogged with smoke.

The ground cries beneath plastic and waste.

Animals run—

but there is nowhere to hide.

Humans take, break,

reshape the world into something

that only fits their vision,

discarding everything that doesn’t.

In another life,

maybe I wouldn’t be a rat,

scurrying through filth,

watching the world from the gutters.

Maybe I’d be a human—

not just surviving,

but finally alive.