Rusty finger nails pierced into the
walls of scratching the night
There's an ear hole of your own accord
bleeding over your hearing of that pain-
Waiting at the back of your dreams; you
probably lived your whole life in a taxi
You've been overdue for love,- their really
owe you taxes; as your face held a field of
all your tears, to water the after pastures

You shrank away grasping onto old figures
of yourself- you had a crush for someone for that
long, that they crushed you under their thumb,
and from those skins is where you bled

            "We can only be friends,"
                                                they said