Vomiting Warmth.

I don’t know,
but every time
that I think
things are fine,
a tiny fracture
a hair-line
in the aftermath
left behind…

I don’t speak,
much anymore
because it hurts
same as before,
hammering home
chiseled score
through the bone
tap into the core…

I don’t see,
so well these days
with the sunshine
burning my face,
sizzling holes,
saving grace
vomiting warmth
all over the place…

I don’t care if the world,
burns down out there
travel be the flames
easily on the air,
burning, abroad
licking everywhere…

Shivers and splinters
cross-hairs and blood,
iron and cobblestone
nails, screws and wood,
I fill up my bag just like
you taught me I should
then I wait like a statue
in the place you once stood…

tears mixed with raindrops
taste an awful lot like blood.

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