3 Am

The Voices Dont Help,
 They make things worse,
 this martini im drinking,
 is no longer a savour, but a curse,
 the lights are low and im barley visable,
 looking for something to make me feel incredable,
 find printed type, black then white,
 sometimes this addictive habit keeps me awake all night,
 this girl im thinking off couldnt be further away,
 in mind not body, yet neither memory or thought will stay,
 cant help but feel rythem in the screen light,
 keep dancing where no one can see, hoping that it feels right,
 lost in my own direction, trying to get my head together,
 cant make up my mind about how i am and or if or never,

 

Edward Ramsden

Wrote this at 3am one sad night.
 15.8.2006