I’m in King Cross’s womb
Bumping down the disused
Tunnels
Ready to slop out in the early hours
All grey due to my recent surroundings
I’m found in
Slippery oil slicks, hi vis
And darkness
But I felt safe in there
The air stuffed itself
It gorged on bum fluff
Supervisor huff, and
She churns in her own emptiness
Open for all the men
Who come
And go
Without appreciating the false
Glow
Of unnatural light
That is all she knows
Now
But which is the only aid
In them finding their way out
She don’t know how
To get movement charging through
Again
Her neighbours tease
Ridden tracks and God’s own breeze
They vibrate above her,
As she begs them please
Lend me something that I need
But the signals fail
And she’s diseased to life-long pleads
But I’m here, darling
Sitting in your black, damp pocket
Of grit
I look through the tunnels,
They are lit
With spotlights
A catwalk for mice
I know my ten hour shift will never suffice
You’ve been here twice the time
I have
Bless
Hopefully next weekend I’ll be assigned
To you
Spend Saturday in your grasp
Or perhaps you’ll cave in on yourself
And the van just won’t get past
I’ll get paid to be on your outskirts
Longing to roll back through
To your belly
Protected in your cocoon
As I escape from the full moon.
By Lyric Deep.
Lyric Deep™ 