This oddly shaped borough, brings me down.
Strange beings, and peculiar clowns.
Rummaging through an empty town,
alive at night, daylight, never to be found.
Not only is it this town that makes me frown,
asphyxiation hunts me throughout.
Every street corner and every roundabout,
as well as every motorway on my way out.

Is it the smoke stunned air,
or my occupied state of mind.
I can’t help but hold my breath
whenever I am outside.
Locked in a chokehold,
with every eye I meet.
There’s words in a glance,
and I’m being told ‘too unapproachable’ to greet.

Grin if you will, or shake hands if you must.
Mind you though,
I’d have to have confidence for that kind of trust.

So I’ll take a course, that critiques my doubts,
my foundation levelled experiences,
my inability to count.
In the hope to rebuild what I’m all about.
In the hope I’m not stunted before I sprout.

This oddly shaped borough brings me down,
strange beings and the same old faces -
rummaging through an ash heap of a town.
Relief awaits, among days denounced,
a sigh so dense will leave evermore.
Upon every street corner, along rough cobbled floors,
disgraced road signs, flimsy wooden gated doors.

Into all avenues, wrapped around roundabouts,
as well as every motorway, on my way out.




© Aish