Friday, 29 December 2017

These Days

Kill me with pungent nothingness
Or better strangle..
This City is dead.
So are the Voices. Of Empathy, connection and togetherness.
The song from the Flute has lost its tune.
 Migratory birds now quench for a map.
Roads are dusty, vision is choked.
I am dying a slow painful death.
Where I cannot find you.
Dear resistance.
Drown me, make me mad, Haunt me.
But come back.
I am You.

No comments: