Sheltered.

Stainless words like razorblades,
I'm mostly sure that they are mine
flicker in the back of my mind
like a rain drenched 3am.
Twine and string of inadequacy and boredom,
smoothed by my curling fingers,
strand by strand into a beautiful braid
of never again
and I wish I never had.
The walls now smell like my old tweed coat,
just because you hated it,
and the dishes reek of your pin stripe suit
because they are all so fucking dirty.

Heave.

Weighing down each strand of hair,
the aching truth of being half alive.
I'll forever sit in the shade of dripping
whores and sleep in a rocky divide.

Blushing.

The deepest blue you have ever seen
translating me into this.

There are days I sleep through purposely
just for some pain relief,
the glass I set on the doorknob has never
shattered through my dreams.
Those lines I like to cross knowingly
show how close we could have been,
so I let my wounds breathe beneath blankets
of all our tasteless histories.

I follow packs of dogs through woods,

jealous of their warm bodies.