Accept with staged grin. 

All of them come from South, going nowhere, 

A whoosh of a air. 

They will try to establish society inside you, 

they will make a sweet, leaping monkey out of you, 

but listen to them. 

They are nothing but side effects of their isolation and melancholia. 

They have never spent days under rotten sheets, they have never used their last pennies on alcohols. 

Don’t believe them, 

but let them speak, let them dance with their forgotten music. 

And during your earned loneliness, kick the asses of those ideas…religion… society… containment. 

Have a beer and keep looking at those yellow walls, 

create one more day out of your tasted wits.

Painting- Will Kemp