Won’t you take me home, sick of being alone.
I don’t live in this dry wall block, I’m not just average stock.
… But then I’m nothing special and I deserve more than this, with my head resting on your fist.
My home has clouds and mountains, not badly maintained monument fountains.
Sick people coughing their lungs on the clock tower steps, pigeons, dust and litter unswept.
Take me home, maybe I should be alone.
Bracing the wind on the cliffs, my life in my hands and not yours.
D September 2018