It is strange to think about walking away

It is strange to think about walking away

As an escape from consequence

When there is nothing

Left to leave

But an image

Burned into empty eyes that once were full

An oasis of serenity in an aberrant world

Curtained in protest,

Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush never gave up

Even as the clouds rained red

There was always a Madonna

On the pavement

A madcap trolley,

With a wobbly wheel,

Full of bin bags

Following a train of thought

In an eccentric weave

On a journey through madness

There is a lazy spotlight on difference

Poverty always hangs out

In dark corners

Next to the arthouse cinema

Going down to Rio

On the wings of desire

Hackney is Mardi Gras

On methadone

Brown rats scurrying beneath fruit stalls

The smell of fish and eels

The sound of the eighties

With barrow boys selling knock-off videos

That would only work on Betamax

Blending into the chaos

As a way of keeping in-step

With changing times

Walking on eggshells when self-medication

Turned every day into a nightmare

Dressing for dinner

When the music stopped

It was always a sad song

Playing on the radio,

Saving pennies for a rainy day

When it was always raining

Laughing at a sick joke

Because it seemed like a good idea

Sleeping outside when it felt safer

Than being locked up in a dark room

Defending a stranger

When you were the one who needed help

Escaping a locked ward

Finding your own way home

As proof of sanity

Always afraid but never turning away

The light always burned brighter

Through your eyes

I can see them now

They are empty and full at one

And the same time

So much has gone

So much remains

Even without headphones

There will always be music

It is a soundtrack

When even the sad songs

Know their place in the pantheon

Everything revolves around a fixed point

Spinning like a record

It is what holds the world together

Until it stops.