8th Floor And Rising Poem by Not Long Left

Beating Blackened spoons
You play your lonely tune
Hanging from the windowless
window the duvet mother gave
you when you last came home
shuts out the unforgiving winds.
In hours of endless boredom
you find yourself counting the
holes in your arm feeling hungry
you dig in, raising the red river
feeding it bliss, careful not to
miss for its kiss is worth a
lifetime of hanging on. As your
eyes shut themselves down
a pigeon buries itself into your
pillow and you smile.