Countdown, forget
That never recognises
Your aging form
Stuck in one place
Left to follow and never lead
Society moulding your responses
Yes, No pressing a button
There’s no more fucking thought
A blank slate to work with,
But the Picasso’s of old
Are just dusty canvases left to rot
So sigh, step back
Count down from ten
And when you wake
This realisation, nothing but a dream,
You’ll carry on that life of yours
Disconnected, drifting
Lost in your sitcom
Tv , ITV, BBC
Ten, Nine, Eight
Seven, Six, Five
Four, Three, Two
One....
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