Tales Of Aching Alienation In Middle Class English Villages In The Mid 1990s

I remember I used to lie on all the coats on those
Dinner party beds
Listen to the white noise down there
I could feel the
Small talk
The small minds
The small food
Liked it up here
Felt safe up here
Floating on this little sea
Liked to rest my flushed face on the cold leather jackets
Liked the smell of day old perfume
Preferred the trappings of people to the actual people
Yes, I
Would listen to that
White noise
And I would wonder
What the appeal was of
Going downstairs
I would wonder:
Is there something wrong with me?
Or
Is there something wrong with them?