Bus number 1,

Was here now it is gone

Eyeliner-ed lads and young berserkers,

value centre decadence,

warwick terrace is decaying

I am cidered up and paranoid

my hands twitch omniously,

I will never ‘’be’

Dehsi bar and grill meals

Bathtub ruminations

rosy cheeks and wounded ego

watching ritualised ****** disguised as music

too much too think

confined to my mind

i persecute myself unrelentingly

I resent everything,

leaving the house to grocery shop,

I let my youthful physique dissolve

I no longer recognise myself

My hair grown

Bleak propositions

I begin to assemble empty defences