My Son Had a Panic Attack

Oh, my son
The tears dripping down your ashen face
Falling from deep within, a place
Where childhood dreams turn sour
Where the careless day becomes the anxious hour
And the hallucinations and nightmares come to devour
Your poor mind.

Vivaldi

Ode to that bloody awful music you get when you ring the DWP! And the way they compartmentalise our disabled kids! Vivaldi Your timeless beauty sounds so ugly In its incessant, perpetual monotony On the end of this goddamn phone Streamed into had-enough ears As I wait As I wait As I wait My lastContinue reading “Vivaldi”