#i’m reblogging because i have no motivation
gotham
the city draws in a collective breath, dripping with the sweet, stark smell of rot and week-old blood. the sun slips down the sky, painting streaks of sweat on bitter tasting cement. glass crackles underfoot, barbed wire snaking over your feet. as the sun slides farther and farther down, dipping below the harbor, tendrils of oil creep up, painting the skyline with dark bruises. you could reach up towards those dark heavens, your fingertips brushing against smog and ash hanging in the air, your hand coming back coated in black. when the shadows have truly fallen over the entirety of the city, a dull ache comes back, running under the cracked streets, twisting underfoot and beneath curbs and empty warehouses, dull office buildings, chipped paint apartments. the ache spins through the city, tripping over bent lampposts and bodies, filling every pothole and splinter with red rimmed pain. the spine of gotham heaves under the weight, trying desperately to keep the rust and steel and concrete welded together. to keep the charcoal stained buildings upright, scraping at the sky. the great city releases its breath, coated in frothing molten grey and soft whispers of the weak.
