he sits at a wooden desk
with a candle
and a thought between his teeth
he has no room for
the pictures
caught in the wrinkles of his bed sheets

outside
he can hear the howl of the moon
and the creatures
that dwell
underneath its sliver skin

he opens the window
to let in the rain
that holds
between its fingers
damp cloths

and the pain of her
is carved
in the side of his desk

he climbed outside
to be
another
black figure

in the rain he howled
and ran like an animal
scaring the forest
the trees

bites his tongue
as hard as he could

wipes the blood off in the grass

peels back the sorrow
from his dark skin
as the rain
clean his bones

he climbs back though the window

in his room
where he is cold
and wooden