The Girl Poem by ... Darjet

I would always crawl
to her place
half dead
cold
beaten down, infected
by humanity
or more accurately the lack of if
I would get there
cold, half dead
and crawl into her bed
her warmth
and middle of the road flesh
and she would take me in
ever time
maybe because I was beautiful, a writer
half dead
but with stars in my eyes
when everyone else
were never born with them
or traded them in for mirages
or had them stolen
the only thing she stipulated
that I take my clothes off
take off the stench of the street
the weariness
the lost promises
and be there in the flesh
cold
and half dead.