The quiet sadness of the people of the north
Echoes silently around the cold grey places.
Ecstasies undared tremble upon the edge of the tightly, respectably unfulfilled
Who drink to excess in order to forget what never happened.
Brave faces,
Well dressed ordered minds on suicides edge
Reflected in the rain skimmed slate grey, battleship grey, hardship grey...
I'm further south, and homeless,
Here I am. Globally-altered and dishevelled.
Oh darling, I've done it all,
An antithesis of sorts.
And yet bound together and hopelessly in love
With the inevitable loss
And the end
How can we run from ourselves?
