concrete castles, brick battlements,
chimneys billowing black smoke.
sky, leaden and forever dull;
this is the city of the guls.

perched upon red brick walls
and slated rooftops
they unleash their cries of battle
and dive, strafing as they fly;

gutting wheelie-bins, squabbling
over human trash and muck.
this is treasure to the guls,
their feathers diseased and their

necks sporting plastic trophies.
they ****** from grubby human hands
and swallow all they can;
their gullets hold no guilt or shame

for the human filth called 'man.'
the guls know their city: every cranny
and every nook. they have always ruled
from their royal perches:

ruthless, ***** and proud. they look
upon human men with beady eyes
as they leave humble offerings,
and they cackle

chorusing with their high-pitched
squawks. for humans are
mere pests
among those mighty guls.

Bad and good always fight in the same battle

To pretend everything is alright,
It's easier to do once you've snuffed out the light.
But I am slowly drowning in the night,
So I try to help myself and write.
But I'm losing the battle I've fought for years,
Now all I have left are tears.
I've decided I've lost,
Because I'm not ready for the cost.