In the shadows of a squalid room, where dust and decay entwine, Blake, with vacant eyes, seeks elusive poetry, a thought so divine. The wall, a witness to neglect, sheds dust upon his bed, Expressionless, he contemplates, with turmoil in his head. A notebook, forsaken on the floor, a battlefield for rats, Their battle over rotten bread, a reflection of life's pained spats. Blake intervenes, casting the loaf and rodents away, Yet, 'Everything Shreds,' he scribes, a mantra for the disarray. As a train rattles by, shaking his abode with disdain, Dust cascades like sorrow, a relentless, gritty rain. Unfazed, he writes, pen dancing on the page, A narrative of desolation, an artist trapped in a cage. The air thickens with the stench of urban strife, Yet Blake persists, capturing the essence of a desperate life. Amidst the cacophony of honks and traffic's cruel ruse, He confronts his reflection, eyes reflecting an inner bruise. In the mirror's gaze, a revelation unfolds, ...