Night in Bangkok, the city's a beast,
neon lights flicker like dying stars.
Down some alley, there's a pair of shoes,
abandoned in front of a restroom,
leather cracked, soles worn thin,
bearing the weight of countless miles
and stories no one cares to hear.

The shoes sit silent, bathed in dirty yellow light,
while the stench of street food and sewage
mingles in the humid air.
A bridge looms in the background,
a skeletal structure of steel and concrete,
stretching over the black, oily concrete,
reflecting the chaos and the calm.

Somewhere in the distance,
the hum of traffic, the cries of vendors,
the dreams sold cheap under flickering lights.
A drunkard's laugh, a whisper of a sob.
The city's alive, pulsating,
a relentless beast that devours souls
and spits out the bones.