Lines between buildings
Connecting us together
Steel and glass enclosings
Protection from Forever
What floor is she on
When does she go home
Lunchtime is a coupon
She colours like the print tone
We are inside
Inside
Machines inside our heads
Never going outside
Outside is dead
The world is cold
Like a north wind in the rain
Your heart is sold
Like a newspapers headline
Who’s to blame
Image adapted from photo at unsplash.com