May 1998: Hackney Road

Just going for a walk.

A hungry boy.
Amphetamine eyes.

Through the dark.
The drizzled,
slant streets of this city.

The finest city.

With the near dead dogs,
wailing.
The painted up girls,
waiting.

Who would have thought,
tonight would turn into this?

My colourless hour.

Old paint.
Shiny,
silky,
and peeling.

The once solid walls of my life.

I'm now scratching,
in a sodium bulbed room.

An ashtray carpet.

Wilting,
Writhing.

A leatherette sofa,
at 4am.

A ripped up,
charred up slit whore,.

Smoking,
death choking,
from a plastic coke bottle.

She don't care for me.
Don't even know me.

And I don't care for her.
Don't even want to know her.

I'm only here for the next hit.

The Crack comfort of strangers.

So I'm dancing.
Waltzing,
with my credit cards.

Tonight I'm on my own.
For the very first time.

In a long time.

I'm killing all my colours.

I'm turning sepia.