coming home i feel like i need to vomit. wake up at 3am, sleep evades so i bake and then toss turn until i force myself out into a morning the sun is ignoring. yellow street light shines through a steady shower of rain: cool on my face, working through my socks. biscuits warm in back pack, presents pressed tight to my chest. this is all i am.
my mouth, dry, feels like it's bleeding, my tights around my ankles... here is your card; metallic and hard on my fingers. i'm caught and twisting on, in your rope - freshly purchased. my sister's smiles cut through glass, heating the empty.
i try to write in our book but nothing comes - i feel bland, would rather feel your presence in all proximity. i miss you; solid and stubborn.
it's him i want to warm my feet. i'm bleeding now; i can taste it.
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