This really is
the dead end,
you can call it
the West End,
that doesn't
bring it alive,

shadows dance
for
bought romance
where dreams once lived.

Through the lens
I lean to cleanse
these spectres,
expecting yet again
to fail.

the desire
to set a fire,
a self immolation
but
the motivation isn't
there.

Depressed
stressed
an unrest that I feel
as if my skin is
being peeled off
one layer at a time.

not even six yet
time still to remember
that I must forget
who I am,

and if I depart
it is only to start
in someone else's
arrival,

survival of the quickest.

I hyperventilate in
this mental state,

rate that on
Trip Advisor.

My advice is
no advice is
good advice.

Got to go
reached my stop
but
It never stops
does it?