Naoimh Spence

(26/10/1990 / Northern Ireland)

Dirge


I hear it all,
The inner city song.
The droning dirge of decay;

Tires screech
Cars groan and roar
And grey ash waltzes on the air,

Lightning screams
On the void of night
The cold thrill of life here.

I walk on
With my hands in the
Pockets of my leather coat

And I step on
Dead grass and cracked stone
And all I can think of is that I

Really need to get out

Submitted: Thursday, February 21, 2008

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