In the end
after an hour of painting my room
different shades of purple
I watch it dry
...
There's gotta be hope in the ashes
in the flaky corpse of nicotine
war against breathing
from the dry bleeding lungs
...
radiated heat
microwaving your skin
boiling the blood
facing head on
...
Returning to the dark corner
in my closet
looking for the madness
I've longed for like a romance
...
I have no problem with that
dark space
in the corner
cracked paint
...
running in circles
with juvenile thoughts
still aching
through words
...
To break skin
to insult
the insensitive
to bite
...