In this corner on top of this world

As I sit ontop of my concrete forest, I breathe the silky mist and I gaze out into what never seems to end. But then I question this city, this bohemian nest--what will you give me once my reign is done, once you've quietly slipped away.

How will I see beyond the pocketful poor, asking for nickels for a bus ride to anywhere, when they only make that trip back to where they asked you in the first place? How will I know these artists who speak only their proclaimed truth, yet only fade away or never look back? How will I learn your lessons without this crowd, this scene, this masochistic clot of autists who claim they're against yet find their ways in?

I don't know.
Maybe another night under your stars will read this never ending story to me.
Maybe I'll add the epilogue.
Or maybe you'll spoiling the surprise ending.