The city is killing me.
With its broken, damaged roads
With its dark, polluted air
Jam packed with snarling vehicles
Whose screams you can hear everywhere.
But these are superficial things.
What really makes me die inside
Is the changing tides of the world.
A world devoid of people
With no flowers to smell
And no stories to tell.
Robots instead of people
Inhabiting its every nook.
Poison frothing inside
Its every little brook.
Surreal as it may sound
They are all dead inside
Whom I am going to join
Because the city is killing me.
Written as a participatory post for The Daily Prompt Surreal