Not quite the green rolling hills
i’d devour only a few years ago
i’m stuck depending on the
dreary dark alleys, buldings with dessimated feelings,
girls who prance so estatically through
cement pavements and tarmac streets.

How do I feel knowing brick tastes sweet,
smog feels soft, and constant movement relaxes me?
They flourished and thrived,
grew up so different, so industrialised.
A completely different vocabularly that has been bastardised.
Not just trees and meadows
not just red juggarnauts and underground rumbles.

I need to find the sea
just for a moment to wash this off me.