Neon reflections on my car windows,
highlights the ancient lives of ghosts,
of a city burdened by your absence.
Forgotten children of forlorn skid rows,
crying out to their unwelcoming hosts,
pleading for a glimpse of your innocence.

Under the dim lights of a shady neighborhood,
abandoned flowers seek the company of lost men,
secretly wishing to hold on to the hope you inspired.
Disillusioned rebels, against injustice who stood,
poets who would write sonnets about the rain,
all lie in the purgatory of your memories, tired.

Fungus infested cafes and dance halls,
where loneliness is the only feeling that survives,
yearns for your return to feel the warmth of your light.
Theater of dreams, where curtains no longer falls,
attracts moans, groans and terribly long sighs,
begs to the vengeful gods for a moment of your sight.

Since the day you walked out of the city we built,
it has not seen a single day of spring.
Since the day you abandoned the streets we designed,
it has not heard a single sparrow sing.
Since the day you last touched my soul,
I ceased to exist as a living human being.