What E State

There’s a sofa on the lawn.

A dirt bike on the path.

A baby pushing a pram.

And drug deals after dark.

Antidepressants feigning cheer.

Sagacity lost in a syringe full of gear.

Neck tattoos.

Double strength booze.

King size cancer stick.

Fast food cancer quick.

Staffordshire bull terriers.

Grey tracksuits and grime.

Shoot em up multi-player.

Brains inept at unwind.

Watching,

Watching,

All the time...

Famous footballer, fast car, 500 grand a year.

Celebrity model, instagram, photoshopped veneer.

Range Rovers round the corner.

Private school in the next town.

Learjet’s in skies above.

Opulence, reputedly, all around.

Organic, grass fed, twenty quid a pop.

Gym membership, free classes, sixty quid on top.

Perfect parents, never raising voices.

Perfect kids, making all the right choices.

Designer handbags.

Job in the smoke.

6 bedrooms, with a study.

And a hot tub, for a joke.

For life’s a joke,

If you weren’t born broke.

Life’s one big game,

If you were raised unashamed.

It’s all yours if you want it.

If you’re not drowning in self doubt, from the scum in your house, the voice in your head, the soul born dead.

Equality escapes the grasps of this race.

Disparity seals it’s future, it’s fate.

For animals no better are we.

No maybe we’re worse.

For at least they run free...