Pick myself up, chin up, stiff upper lift
Why though?
I saw her lock hands with pork scratching of the week
Another subtle deterrent
From an uncaring collective
She smiles, she ways, she’s out of reach
The story of another weekend out
A turned head, bereavement nostalgia
My arse is kissing concrete again
Patience, patience, patience
I’m sick of waiting on a lost package
If existence can’t convince me good is coming
Then what is my North Star supposed to be?
To find the things we credit as the motive
For the respiratory process

I’m not quite so motivated right now
I’m choking on nostalgia, fat on memories
Someone pacify me
Give me something new to write about

What do I have to do for you to accept me Essex?

Sebastian Noël