b'PrologueThese have been the years the sun burned greenAnd there was no grass this side of anywhere.Anger festered across the high water while in my cityNormality thinned out andLike lice crawl the curel ghouls from rot underfootAt sixteen I am old enough to see them, shadowless on theCorner of Gate cinema. Toe nail boots, Viking eyes, pupils stainedRed with apathy.Sixteen years doesnt feel like it should anymore.All this freedom is wasted on blue light screens in a city I loveBut could leave in two years. Nothing to do butCall a friend, hold their familiar caller ID like an amulet.Here, in a footnote of femininity, a violence sits and permeatesThe whole house with smoke that sinks into the lungs.Its a disease, spread on the backs of European rats,Caught even in the classroom. Forevermore it shall be,Until it isnt.Caoimhe MacCarthy18'