I'm lost in the city of broad shoulders. I'm poor and creative. When I walk down the street I see i-pods in ears and hearts tucked away and held tighter than purses in the subways. When I call or email people I don't really know and ask for help they shrug it off and think it's ok. I throw my heart into the world with the work of my mind and my hands and there is no echo, no karma payment. It's hard coming back to a system of chaos from a chaotic place with a system. I have more headaches here than I ever did there. I had more friends there than I think I will here. In the fuzz of exhaust and rainclouds my eyes trace the sides of buildings and Lake Michigans smoothly transitioned shore and I wonder how I made it this far. From the land of mountain and gorge to the city of angles and slopes. I look out to the city from my big window and I see the dancers in the buildings and the people exercising across the street, I wonder how their lives led to this point, where they hide their souls. I don't know where mine is. It keeps coming up, in the past and in my head. If I lost it, I don't think I will get it back. I'm blank as paper fresh from the store. I've been hollowed, hurt, and full of remorse. This lonely path has taken it's course, and I feel death looming on the sidewalks and that lakes tan, tarnished shore. I feel red and I see red, the skies blues nevermore.