The conspirator

This must be when the lights tiptoe silently through the no go areas,
when it’s dismal and grey and rain’s in for the day and you’re in for the day as well.

some days are as near to hell as near can be or as near as I see that they could be and
some days are brighter
lighter
filled with joy,
full of glee

this is me full of woe
no places to go to
and nothing to do
but tap on the keyboard.
when
scratching my name on the headboard
gets tiring.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.