amongst the drink,
the rock n roll,
motorcycles and the quietness of a 16th century millhouse,
infrequent seizures on the high street.
bicycles and dogs,
a walk to the pond,
blood red roses on a brick wall,
the off license across the street.
the blackness in the history of the city,
in it’s dirt, it’s institutions,
insidiously and creeping, a constant battle.
I feel it will get
achieve its end,
it’s a long game we are ill equipped to fight,
somewhere out there a restful place,
this side or that…
Struggles of a friend with depression and drink.