Hello
It's me again
It's the early hours and I'm slightly drunk
And it's me again
He has the sins of his mind
Which keep him warm inside
Amidst the weary and the wasted
Such warmth keeps him alive
Restless
I've always been restless
I hate to move yet I can't sit still
Hours are endless
There is a thrush inside his head
An agony of wings
Panic beaten thrashing
A cage of singing things
Anxious
Still always anxious
Even though I've slowed right down
This edge is ageless
Laying low and watching
A million sub-plots hatching
Paranoid and paranormal
He scatters to survive
By Phil Roberts
This is an old poem that's been in need of a title for a while.