Sometimes the monster rears its head
Some days I can’t get out of bed
Grey mornings and I feel the dread
But no more wishes to be dead.
There are times when I see the hole
The pit the chasm in my soul
But it has shrunk like washed-out wool
The empty ice is now just cool.
I think I’ll always feel the weight
The steepest cliff of would-be fate
But I don’t peek over the edge
My two feet are far from the ledge.
Blocking the Road to Divestment
Since the 1960s, LSE students have fought to sever the university’s financial ties to human rights abuses. This article uncovers the entrenched interests within its governing bodies that continue to block divestment, from apartheid South Africa to present-day Palestine.