The Park & Other Me

I just wanted to pretend to be talking to someone while traveling across some dystopian world. And then decided to write it down in poems I shall upload every other week if asked to. I refer to the imaginary person as other me. I hope you enjoy it...if that's your thing.

Other me, what do you see

When we walk down the street

Hand in hand with no jackets on

Winds howling and biting at us

As we walk through this park

What do you see?

Is it the trees? They are all dead

Their leaves have rotted away

Their peeled bark is forever gray

Is it the little boy playing with the dirt

With not a care that his toys are gone

Or that his friends are not there at all

Because he never had them to start with

Is it the man sitting nearby watching

So sad that the boy must grow up

Paying for the mistakes of someone

He has never met or heard of

Is it the way the man shakes

As he coughs red into his hand

Is it this cracked concrete we tread

With this brown grass poking through

Like fingers out of a premature grave

Is it your shoes with stark white laces

You stare at rather than see any faces

Or that this city is slowly dying, then?

You will not answer so I must be wrong.

Let us guess what you must notice:

Is it me as I talk with you?

Knowing whatever I say will

Pass right through you like

This wind that whips us

Is it the sharp smell of copper?

Knowing that there is no need

for small change in this place

It must be the other thing

Is it the paleness of my face?

I could pass for a vampire now

Thanks to the monster in my veins

Is it the way I start to shake?

Knowing it could be the cold

Or something much worse

Is it the way I cough up red?

Hmm.I dunno. Should I continue?