anaemic and pale
i'm walking these streets.
they resemble the corridors
where you get lost for weeks.
they're not pretty or homely
they make you feel sick
anaemic, confused
your faith grows weak.
I close my eyes when crossing the road
i become deaf when birds sing their songs.
i don't want to be happy-
here it doesnt make sense.
i'd rather lock myself up
within self pity and tales.