Sit down.

Too many times
after spooning rusted nails into my mouth
have my words disappeared into a crimson knot.

I'm looking for the first time
making sure my daggers are well hidden
at hidden messages I had stuffed in my pockets.

Hosing thick mud from my skin
letting all those insect bites breathe again
for the first time, seeing the dirt was just a comfort.

Taking a seat across from a stranger
spitting out all my bricks and mortar
exhaling everything I own, inhaling everything I want.

Finally.

Her words were disappearing into
fog in the night air.
Although it was unseasonably cold
as they sat there, sipping unwanted coffee,
the realisation that she liked the dirt but not the man
was much, much colder.

Substance.

Your storm wasn't in a teacup,

I kept it inside of me. 

Even now, I always have the hiccups.

I took three pills to help me sleep but

I woke with fractured bones.

Next time I'll know to take four.

On the sunnniest days I lay naked
beneath a window, covered in sunlight from head to toe.
It feels like I'm outside when I'm really inside.

Deliquency.

In the depths of ignorance and starvation,
I took to sitting in the street with a sign saying:
"Will cure broken hearts for food."