The urban princess, jaded

...I'm sick of dour faces staring at me from the TV Tower. I want roses in my garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted strangers in the mud; these mutants, blood-meal for the plant that's plowed...

Today, I dread the city I reign upon. My mind has exhausted all likings of buildings, streets, cars, people, oh, especially people, crowded people living and working superposedly, resting inside layers of concrete, warriors to all intents and purposes. Stuck inside the city walls, I find myself tiresome of everything it stands for and my gaspings for air bring only dust and stench to my lungs....

Confined in my urban prison, I dream of an infinite rose garden, just like Jim. A garden where rose bushes are as tall as trees in a forest. I want to wake up to the smell of dew dropped rose petals and rise my head from the raw grass while my fingers caress the dirt.

I want to breath the air of nowhere and chase the blood in my veins into the rush of life.

This is my daydream today, when - stuck in the office - I search a link towards nature among web links which provide nothing but pretty images of the outside... My mind looks out the window and flows above grey, hostile streets, with no compliance to the road legislation, searching for the freedom of a green oasis.

...I'm sick of doubt, live in the light of certain south cruel bindings. The servants have the power - dog-men and their mean women, pulling poor blankets over our sailors...

And still, I will have to continue typing for my Lord - the Employer, the benefactor who feeds me against 50 working hours per week - so I type my dreams away, surrendering them to my daily tasks while the urban hell awaits for me outside...