Street lights flicker
The mobs digress

Under the blanket of night
The city rests.

And out creep the roaches,
With no direction or plan,

To paint the town red
With slick, grimy hands.

In a labyrinth of alleys
They’ll never be found

As they wait in the shadows
While the sun inches down.

And when the very last ray
Is pulled out of sight;

When the city again
Is drowned by a sea of night,

Nothing louder than a skitter
Will fill the air

And the dank drowsy atmosphere
Will reek of despair

Until the light returns,
Along with blinding pain

Of revealing what is left;
What little remains.