I thrash around in the undertow
Conveyored out to sea, fully aware I can save myself
By simply standing up
Instead, I stay in the ocean of lies and fuckyous
Struggling to keep my head above water

I like to think of myself as a strong swimmer
Captain of rhyme and reason
But here the waves deliver blows to my head
And the further from shore, the bleaker my future becomes

The safety line is broken, no going back
To the warm beach where we sat, jobless
And you wore my bracelets while the sun gave us life

The sun, who now taunts me from above
This disorienting, fluid prision
Never again will I watch those educated hands
Immerse themselves in the grains of sand overlooking calm water
All I have left is endless blue
And these spongelike lungs soaking it up

My weary muscles relax and I disappear over the horizon
Toward the red sunset

My feet tread the stones and my bones write the words which in other  words hurt and the hurt that I feel can't begin to conceal what I try to reveal but I can't.
There's a layby I walk by, but people don't lay there, don't stay there so what is it there for?  
is it there to confuse me with more words written freely?
In the precinct, so succinct, standing tall like an old Sphynx is a monument to testosterone, they call it the old folks home but there's no home for me there, I'm out in the town square, an old square in my own hole with a large hole in my right shoe and a bigger hole in my stomach, getting through it is easy, practice makes perfect and I've had plenty of that.
The stones become spongelike, the longer I write the softer they get, the softer they get the more that I write, it's a rite for me, a day and a night in the life of me where eternity is got to by catching the 3.43 from Euston to Peterlee.
If I sleep, I sleep lightly, frightened the monsters who fight me might win.
I see an end in the end or it may be a layby I pass by, shaking my head I go on wondering why.