Sunday morning, dark and grey, Coming home from December. I can feel myself wasting away. Look down, the skin is a mystery, All I see is the history. Too much history. For a moment, I forgot.
The ******* the furthest right, Skin too thin and preciously white, She was in the hospital. I want to be that way. Six and half a dozen, It was all a bit of nothing Until my bones started breaking For no reason, No reason at all.
Stress. Too far from home, From what I know. Not the hands touching me, Every night from before I was ready, The trauma in a bedroom Hanging icy on the air. A name on a label hanging hanging Icy on the air. Packaged hands waiting Behind university doors, Unknown, Afraid. A kind face telling me to come in As I hesitate in the open door. Do I remember the way, Can I really run faster?
I don't see him anymore, Not since summer. We sat on the shore, I almost hated him, Hated myself instead. It never takes long. There must be something wrong With me. Went home to the city. I didn't sleep.