Pressurised
Tightly sealed spaces and not a single vent in sight,
Pressure its building up like a tiger’s choking bite,
No precious release from the grip on your throat,
No freedom from the force your yearned antidote,
Tons pressing per square second on every person,
Inflating the tension with each slow minute gone,
The unpressurised bars closed for the near future,
Taking drunken madness inside caging the immature,
Prowling behind the invisible jail door in your chains,
The constant rattle of your bonds giving you migraines,
Every link straining against the impulse to run outside,
But the glass door of the law stands and we all abide,
The heat pours mockingly through the open window,
The arrival of the English summer goes past in shadow,
The heat creating a pressure cooker of people stewing,
The air thickens like gravy as arguments start brewing,
No release from this pressurised situation on the inside,
No exit strategy from everyone’s personalised virus hide.
Part Dalek 