There’s a slight blur, beginning to fill the cracked screen.
That stench creeping into the everyday, every morning
Stale tobacco, ***** clothes.
Polluting and Disrupting.

The taste of blood at dawn, with no glimpse into how,
Metal, shame, how?
Lukewarm alarming nothingness, no touch then thousands,
Then nothing all over again.

Sweeping past like a cargo train, beating on through and through
The stations. No destination...
Stuck dancing over the same old tracks,
To the slow constant hum of trapped rails.

The outside, is lost in the speed.
Left only the pretty colours, flying past.
Weaving the towns, roads, cities, all creation
Into the blended portrait of a confused place.