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Glint of street-lights the same brightness & shine sits in the palm of my hand. |
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It's only okay as long as I'm not thinking, and I'm not thinking. |
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Sour-sweet, caught in the back of my throat & swimming through my fingers. |
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It curdles over orange plastic, spatters the newspaper & and I'm neither relieved nor dissappointed sickened & numbed over - yet underneath this, a quick thrill fizzes my veins, sparks a separate life into me. |
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The machine at my side thrums blood sealing - wax colored. |
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It catches & sucks back, back on itself. This clattering starts whenever I move, chemical smell rises in my throat, gets stuck there & I just want to get out. |
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Dull sunlight catches the plastic chairs & over-full dustbins outside the window - and I know that it will all settle back into place now the fire has died away. |
