I keep on telling myself it’s gonna be alright but I don’t believe it.
A Wave of Rap Music awoke me this morning from the flat downstairs.
The conveyor of dreams is rolling past my window but I’m out of coin.
A spider is hanging from my ceiling. I think he has plans of his own.
Milk bottles clink in the holder and the front door closes shut locked.
This either builds up your armour or numbs you to reality and hope.
I’m talking about the thud, the whack, and the dopest hits from a jumbo jet.
This is broadsheet flagellation by a man wearing a bandana reading ‘Viva La Femme’
I am titillated by Krusty Creme less I am bowled over by Agbonlahor,
Didn’t I ever make choices? Wasn’t there a time when I decided things? For myself?
A man, A man. Didn’t I want a man? Now I don’t know. Don’t worry it’s a dream.
They will hoover the hair out of the carpet when you’re gone and apply one coat of paint to the door.
Agbonlahor, Gabby Agbonlahor.