I am 26 letters more empty,
Than I was yesterday.
This world is the constant dripping of a tap,
Drilling into my skull one millimetre at a time.
This world is safely wrapped in bubble wrap,
Beautifully shattered from the inside.
We have thousands of bubbles to pop,
One god ****** pope at a time.
Interfering personal spaces,
Dancing wildly on the edges of dust.
We sit and rust on O2 particles
Kissing dreams of lust as our bones cuss.

Again, like a clogged drain filled with leopard fur,
The tantalising words of my next and newest mind burst
Seeped through and escaped.

Most nights I wish I could escape
From monsters I cannot see,
Hear or feel...
Are they even monsters at all?

I keep finding hell's butterflies,
but I don't think they're real any more.

Other minutes pass and I'm stuck on remembering
A single line that was never meant to enter my mind.

A whole day now has introduced a double cosmos
Swirling its nebula around my toes,
I'm still stuck here but it's cosy...
And I'm wholly overcome with mesmerising tastebuds.

Sometimes I'm not home
But I remain sat, snug between it's walls.
Sometimes I'm home,
Existing only as a body,
A spent bullet shell...
Empty, warped and scratched gold.
All of the time I'm at home,
Physically.
Yet, the wind traces it's fingers through my hair
Sending;
Shivers down my spine,
Sending;
My gaze to stars...
Peeking between cracks in the roof,
Sending;
My heart to a parallel beat...
And I am not there.

We move by instinct,
Darling, move by instinct...
Shuffle past barriers,
Push through foggy eyes,
Hold me close...
Warm, together.
I'm crumbling darling,
Move by instinct,
Hold me in your arms.
Find a temporary repair,
My tourniquet.
I'm falling all over drenched eyes.
Faint screams ring,
Chiming louder and louder
The more you fade from view.
Move by instinct darling,
Move into me.

I was going to write a poem today,
About love and loss,
Sin and gin,
But the motion was buried
By the question of how to drown myself
In the puddles outside my window.