Sub

[sral]

city living, i see a man that’s hit his limits
pictured within an underpass the world moves too quick to witness
this is england, post-Brexit. no help is in sight
selfishly minding our own business with our heads in our timelines
forgetting how finite we are. or how short that our time is
walking on mindlessly by, temporary as the drawings behind us
scrawled on the writers block. our once colourful pasts
slowly dull into abject obscurity. fading to illustrious black
no longer the canvas we were back in the days we revered
a grey steeled appearance rests below our paint-peeled veneers
it used to make me so cheerful, but now i hate being here.
this place feels so weird nowadays. I barely recognise
everywhere in sight, i mean where’s the sense of pride gone?
it’s empty as the dialogue of friends becoming bygones
resentment of the time lost but not the memories that I’ve got
derelict and whitewashed buildings were our canvases to paint
handing our creative minds a rite of passage that we sprayed
cans would rattle as we shaked them. now fiends are rattling as they shake
crack still in its base form, spoon basking in the flames
hand beneath it waving a lighter til the matter separates
hear the crackle of its vapour, bubbles gather as they race
a single flash illuminating the dark habits that they face
crack addicts have no shame, but even they still answer to their names
and the man you see portrayed here isn’t some random passing stranger
it’s actually my neighbour. I didn’t know him well but knew him enough
stupid as fuck, married with two kids before screwing it up
choosing the drug route. using a crutch to escape from lifes reality
tryna balance being a responsible parent in the face of untimely tragedy
downward spirals gather speed as they build up momentum
filling the head with dark thoughts despite your realest intentions
it’s a progressive slope where no end is in sight
until you’re as empty inside as the subway where he spends every night
black tar heroin bites hard, finds marks embedded in spite
the gentle respite of nodding off narcotics with his head to the side
expressionless eyes shut. why look with no exit in sight
desperate times see a discarded chair become his bed for the night
polyester pulled tightly around him. he hasn’t slept for a while.
temperature right below zero before the first few seconds of light
are beckoning brightly. cold as the concrete steps where he lies
pedestrians smile as they amble past having kept it polite
but he’s already dead in their eyes. an outcast swept to the side
they never give eye contact, just stare at their destined horizon
hope everything’s fine with themselves, purse held ever so tight
fearful to fend for their lives while forgetting his plight
soon as the subways entrance arrives. he’s gone and forgotten
as obnoxious a problem as the graffiti found lost at the bottom
none of them stopping to appreciate the story beneath it
most ignore it completely rather than admiring all of its genius
i saw past the tawdry appearance that
greeted me today
started speaking to my neighbour. hated seeing him this way
picked his seat up off the pavement and i set it to the side
looked directly in his eyes til I could tell he recognised me
he started welling up inside, i took the scruff of his jacket
stood him up back against the wall before he hugged me and thanked me
hungry and famished, lent him an ear to tell me his struggles
when you’re in trouble it takes a friend to show you lights at the end of the tunnel

[big baby]

this was pretty gay man, in a good way. also crsckheads never answer to their name. we bin calling billy bob for years and he says his name samantha