Lagos

This city is a cesspool

filled with a coldness

brought on by dementors

slowly slurping your joys

and childish innocence,

relishing in the empty husk

its residents become.

Empty husks seeking out facsimiles of happiness.

Chasing it like a high

yet seldom finding it, so they settle

for the fool’s gold, that is dangerous fun

–alcohol, drugs, meaningless sex, vices.

This city is a virus,

corrupting,

turning lush, verdant souls

into gnarled, soulless monsters;

kindness into selfishness,

hope into cynicism.

Creating zombies trapped in a rush,

constantly pelted by a sense of urgency–

urgency, which gets one nowhere

meaningful in the end.

For how will you notice the yellow sundress

in a sea of greys if you rush on by?

How will you hear the laughs that may bring you the happiness you seek

if you do not slow down to enjoy the moment, the process, the journey?

This city is a poison,

I fell prey easily,

doe-eyed & naïve to its ways.

Beguiled by its faux shiny exterior

that I failed to see its rotten hands

wrap around my essence,

and as it festered, twisted me

into something I barely recognised in the end.

This city stole me;

sadly, receiving this epiphany

cost me burning down my sanctuary.

Now, sitting in these ashes

struggling to rebuild it,

I strive to reclaim my essence too.

–Melissa