London

The hazy pre-dawn light lit up streets 

littered with the dregs of humanity

Skeletal buildings gave way to husks

Needles still clinging to skin and the eyes

long dead, reflecting the glow between blinking lids

This was the way it had always been

The hearts of the city overshadowed

The ants turn away, favouring the skyscrapers

of glass and chrome abetting the growing darkness

Cancerous it seeps taking more every day

Perpetuated by those who decimate the help

Once a pound, now a tuppence, excuses of business

A growing GDP, and a falling populace

And still the sickness spreads, first the young

Then the poor, and more soon to become poor

Finding their faith in the prick of a needle

Fake euphoria is far better than the real future.