[Poems] Tunnel Vision

These days of grey can pass like cigarette smoke, But usually linger like pungent stenches from drainpipes. That rotting odour locks onto my nostrils, Acting as an incessant adhesive that refuses to Leave. Killing interests, murdering my thrills. These eyes of shattered glass stare. They stare at this luminescent screen in agony. Screaming. Shards of…