Even my dreams run on train-tracks.

Those clouds above might be magnificent but I can't seem to raise my head.

"It's a lovely day," you say, and "I Take My Pleasures Where I Find Them."

You spit it. Triumphant.

The pavement stretches on.

How did it come to this, I wonder - your spite and my hate?

There was a time when the slabs of 'us' were freshly laid, the foundations new and strong.


Time and the treads of others wore us down by increments


until cracks appeared.

My eyes were as wide as my doll's, once.(It flickers in my head now, more dream than memory)

I go to tell you this, as if it will make any difference, but -

I am so tired.

And the tang of accusation has strengthened your resolve.

So, in silence, I walk on and on and on and on.

until my heart has hardened over -

and your voice is nothing but pavement.