By Ethan Bennett
Morning light, burns through blinds bright.
Toxic veins, carrying memories of last night.
Meditation, you have no power here.
For my body is weak. It reeks of beer.
What a way to enter the new year.
Step outside. Sharp, cool intake of air.
Eyes struggle to focus. Sunlight glare.
Time for a walk. What’s in range?
No mate, I don’t have any spare change.
Battersea Park. That’d be nice.
The hangover is real though. Must think twice.
Clapham Common. Not a problem.
Adidas creps, don’t ask where I got them.
2015, seeps back into my head.
Your voice, your smile, your bed.
For right or true or wrong.
What’s done is gone.
A balloon untied.
Time to fly.
Eyes on the finish line, placements to win.
Awards and pencils planned in the moleskine.
So sat on this bench, in Clapham Common.
Bitter cold now, so back to Brixton.
Back to comfort, thank you street wisdom.
Watch a movie, go grab a coffee.
Enough of this Art Director trying to write copy.
New year, same me.
Same goals, bigger dreams.
Bring on 2016.