can you see the piles,
the broken pens
and the drops of kool-aid coloured blood
all over my bed,
and my floors?
not only in the bedroom,
i'm trailing it all over towns i visit.
i retraced my steps today
for the first time in a long time,
and i found an old draft.
someone else had picked it up,
and drew in shapes
in the places i left blank.
i'll never know when i've got it.
these words can't compete
with the feelings i store up.
if only i wasn't so vague,
i think i could be understood.