That was me in the moment gone bland with the colour
of petrol wash,
clinging to the skin,

city bear me,
tell me I'm still a child,
tell me I have a long way, to go,
before I loose the light,
glinting pupils,
a thrill,
caused by stupidity.

Looking blindly,
strung out like sunlight,
through dirt,
distorting the view,
transitory spaces, again,
I'm not coming home.
Hand me the map to changing,
into myself,
despite the scars,
that break with the stretching of skin.

Despite your eyes,
looking right through,
me, ghostly apparition,
with no insides to parade,
weaving performance,
Joking, joking,
I will bow to no one.