Eyeing up a bench
A bit of solid mass to sit upon and escape the cold
And my ridiculous self
Arrived too early and now I’m confused, anxious
I retreat into a toilet to escape a self that can never be escaped from
And it’s tough knowing I did this to me
A sort of torture you don’t imagine you’d put yourself through
And it’s hard to see where the wiring went wrong
Where the brain fell short
And why the calamities burst forth
You’re late as ever and I’m in a cubicle
Outside it’s chilled, like that bottle of babycham we left chilled in the fridge for months
Seeking solace in a loo
Because I don’t know what else to do
Talking to my pillow. 