The problem with the middle class is....

Yellow pack crisps

In the corner,
Above a skirting board,
Like a dog,
In an angle,
Your face pressed
Against two angles,
All you see is symmetrical
Badly placed wallpaper
And your hands,
Idly by your sides
Your knees hurt now
When have you not?
Looking for temptation
And finding boredom
Oh how typical
Oh how, right!
Just the sound of that voice,
Makes you feel dead,
Or even wishful of your sense of demise,
In written words it sounded so good,
Now you would rather stick pins into eyes.

I once sat at a window,
In front of the world,
It was noise,
Nothing appeared outside,
Inside was different,
Inside was in debate,
Is it so awful just to glide into the wayside?
The window is open,
Yet the smell remains,
A reminder that not all is well,
When will you try?
When will you stop and live your life?
Its not easy, not easy at all,
Forever being electrocuted and always still left just alive.

Its not like when you’re young,
You don’t see the mirror and the awful reflection it hides
Everything is free, everything is easy,
Until one day the pins and needles begin,
That is the day the grief and reflection meet.

Honesty and all of its guises,
Don’t laugh, this is real,
But you laugh, you don’t understand,
Another ghost ship sailing in concrete waves.
If I am a burrow and you are the light,
Dig me in deep and leave off the light.