london is trying to kill me: The air is poisoned. A year's worth of toxic death in one week in
Oxford Street burning in my lungs between highbury corner and holloway, so bad i have to stop
to suck on the exhaust of a low-emissions bus blazoned with a picture of Theresa May so for a
moment I am choking on her fumepipe.

london is trying to kill me: the youth steal mopeds and throw acid in our face, the cops crush
your windpipe under waterproof boots, stabbed shot and blinded, permanently disfigured, for the
crime of delivering UberEats in Hackney, risking their lives so the gentry don't have to leave
their fortified luxury flats

london is trying to kill me: we'll burn alive inside of our council houses, the numbers of
remains forever unknown, entombed in illegal sublets, the cladding on the outside designed to
make it look prettier has a 100% safety failure rate.

london is trying to kill me. the crack foxes dance and weave between my wheels and phone
smombie lemmings leap from the pavements into my path because they are looking for a way
out too.

london is trying to kill me. in the moving bunkers of the underground the only sound is of
desperation creaking sneaking into every thought and inaction we are frozen being delivered
from one part of the abattoir to another. I stand on the platforms edge and the masses behind
me

Push me ever closer to the limit.

london is trying to kill me! the vomit covering the pavements clogs chicken boxes and makes
the surfaces too slick to grip as we slip and slide inside and outside.

london is trying to kill me! its screaming for mercy from the pavements relentless
vegan chicken won't feed the kids at 6 quid a pop or stop the rot turning the ceiling above the
cot black with mould, electro-shocked by the cops as they hurtle towards us at apathy miles per
hour.


as i drag my weary living corpse from house to hole daring to dream an endless scream that
nobody wants to hear

london is trying to kill me. i went mad on platform 4 of clapton junction amidst the 5pm herds
crushing on through the doors. i slipped beneath their feet and on to the tracks crammed
between stinking crotches and the crushing grind of the rush hour wheels

london is trying to kill me. I lay amidst piss and sour milk on my doorstep. Mopping up blood
with a copy of the Metro as landlords fling timber through the windowsand mass the fash to
smash my gash my gash with sovereign ringed fingers.

london is trying to kill me!
i keep waking up in the middle of poetry performances and infonights and i can no longer tell the
difference between poetry and being read my rights as i am handcuffed and lead to the back of
the van

london is trying to kill me! abducted off the street corner by uniformed dominatrices of the
state they fulfil my submissive abduction fantasies extended over years of low-level persecution
culminating in orgiastic exhibitions before the bewigged one

london is trying to kill me! finding me hanging handcuffed in my cell feet scraping the desk
trying to reach my phone to Instagram my hang-man's orgasm. Final post hashtagged fuckldn
london is trying to kill me

and sometimes
i wish it would
london is trying
london is trying
kill me
kill me
kill me!
KILL