It’s another still night in Colchester
Everyone’s gaze is exclusive to surface level
And a vibrant facia pallet of fauna
Is indistinguishable from the cold grey tarmac
And I’ve honestly got nothing interesting to say
No mythological comparisons to make for my Tuesday
And definitely no darling in sight to glorify
Nothing remarkable about a still vibe
Cos without my know-how
My subconscious has be sorting out rations
Keeping my personality for ransom
Not to exert every kilojoule, not quite yet
On winter time dates in the warm
That can’t even muster a flat spark
I run to the hills with delight painted on my face
Only to be greeted by a horde of the dead
Their ain’t nothing remarkable about a still populous
And if everyone’s keeping their love off the line
What good is currency anyway?
If all it’s doing is leaving ache in your chest
Best to wait for the ripples in the blue
And cannonball accordingly
Until then the cold locks up the receptors
Stops anyone from detecting what anyone’s feeling
So it’s best to shut down completely
Until we’re back into stormy waters again
Lnc0
Domestic Poetry 