Grey street corner
A frozen room
Lonely bed
A dying moon
...
Veins bulge upwards out of your rugged hands, criss-crossed with lines,
Pumping hardworking blood around your body,
Your blood, my blood,
...
The musty smell
hangs
weightless in the air.
...
Mohawk standing like a battle flag,
Darkened eyeliner, metal-cut nose and lips,
Flesh carved into words exposed on his bare back,
Low slung belt, with chain heavy jeans.
...
The tracks scream out beneath the train.
...