tales lie in storeys

mine's number ten

concrete and steel

make this tiny den


fresh air's aplenty

noise from the lift

my cell  ten years

I won't ever shift


far horizon dizzy

balcony's for birds

walls to speak to

echoing my words


the drop reassures

if you're depressed

open the window

drunk first is best


glimpsed one hurtle

free with one bound

going at high speed

as she met ground


dont see neighbours

hear raised voices

iron grilles on doors

limited life choices


dont think about it

caged souls below

gales make it sway

towering with woe


reeks of stale urine

rank odours old age

stairs far too risky

drugs bring on rage


tend to stay inside

if lift's out of order

no food shortages

if you're a hoarder


not a place for kids

underclass reigns

even pure daylight

fear paints stains


when I die up here

hope the lift works

get down my coffin

no unseemly jerks





◄ Homeopathy

Quarry Hill Flats ►


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Aviva Rifka Bhandari

Wed 20th Jan 2021 14:01

I can really feel the melancholy building in this poem... literally.
I think the structure of the text itself represents the tall tower too.

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