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Infirm The book slides over the counter Tattered pages stamped to fill. Days crawl slowly by Vacuum in time Punctuated by monotony. Cold cuts through the body like a knife Callused hands rubbed together Finding heat momentarily. The smell of age marks the room Cobwebs and crockery Pictures and poverty Rags and radio Soiled fingernails and sorrow. Years spent wasted Pittance called life. Heart flutters on. To exist all this time? For what? A one roomed flat? An old grey cat? Life’s like that. Lets you down flat!


Infirm