I look back at old comments, hoping for something new to see
Some old remark of a person I once was
That stench that burns your nostrils and kills the back of your throat
Stinging into the base of your teeth and down to your fingertips
Bite your nails with yellowed teeth and suckle on the nicotine feed
That keeps you strong
Like balsawood and matchstick towers,
We built our castles in the mud and grit of it all
A glorious death had I not found my feet

Feet running
Running rabid and fast, too scared to slow down
Too nervous to stop.
Stop searching. Stop searching for something to hold onto
Let it all out of you
Hands released
Let the waters take hold of you
floating on top.

So selfish of me to not see the sun
The day breaks and falls to pieces in your hands
Crumbling down with a certain sweetness behind
Like burnt caramel that sticks
As we stand.

How beautiful it is
We talk of fun things and long weekends
Of head highs and analogue eyes
Away from the screens and the mess of addiction
white skies mottled with rose coloured patches
Sewn together jeans with embroidered scratches
Chalk line to measure my affliction
The people I’m with won’t see my addiction.