Brink

When you are ready to plunge into a new life in a new city you must:

surrender to the dread in your gut,
now writing daily letters to your head outlining
every single way in which this could go wrong

accept you will be lost far longer than it takes
to know the streets around your rented room
with the bold strokes of mould you were never introduced to
when you viewed the place

reach for the rose-tinted glasses that will cloud your vision
whenever the hell of that sketchy walk home
or tourist-crammed train carriage
slip over into physical torture

know, without reserve, that one day
looking down from a high window
or up from a grimy pavement floor
you will look at this city and think
"what on earth am I doing here?"