Counting the Breaths

I can’t feel it now, moving down the street
covered in potholes, once pretty paper cups,
littered Lucozade and wafting weed.
I can’t feel anymore, moving down this street.

We’re trapped in emotional lockdown,
sat in our own little compartments of hell
with opal glass windows. Ain’t that swell.

I can’t feel it now, moving through the town
shooting darkness everywhere, melting metal poles,
small syringes and creating smiles nowhere.
I can’t feel anymore, moving through this town.

We’re living in a solid construction of apathy
built by insidious industrial engineers
with colourless eyes. Nobody perseveres.

I can’t feel it now, moving through the world
that’s greyed all the skies, blacked out each sunrise,
and threw my heart back at me, wasted and frayed.
I can’t feel anymore, moving through this world.

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