How do I write about this unhappiness?

It isn’t supposed to be like this,
the bright ribbons of songs bursting from cars,
like bouquets,
and women treading in their windy dresses, with the wishes spooling in the air, like dandelions.
Those cherry trees that line the boulevard; they’re not supposed to be like that. 
Dogs are pissing on them,
with their fake smiles.