Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in.

On the bottom of the lenses of my glasses, there's no strips of metal. There's a clear plastic wire, and it refracts.

Headlights of passing cars turn into fleeting rainbows. Stop lights stay their cherry (bloody) red.

Downtown in a city like this, everything is outlined in tiny lights. Staring at this thin cord, I get a good vision of everything around me. It reflects, as well. Albeit, in a twisted manner.

Everything is darkened and shifted. In this version of our world, everything is beautiful.

There's a girl sitting at a bus stop, in the snow. She's cute. Bright blue hat and tasselled scarf, messy dark hair, and the tip of her nose was red. In her reflection, she was mangled into something far different.

I stare at this wire, although it hurts to focus so closely, and the oddness makes my stomach churn.

In this beautified world, we can't live.