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I need a remedy of diesel and dust |
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Something |
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I can taste whith a fix |
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I can trust |
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Another high, more potent than lust. |
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Eating and repeating like the workings of rust and time. |
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I woke to the sound and the rhythm of rain dancing down on the window pane. |
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Comatose. |
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Eyes half closed. |
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Arms wrapped up with the wounds all sewn. |
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I froze from head to toe. |
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Clenched the jaw, then felt my body roll over slow. |
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I must live to know that healing takes some time. |
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So no regrets, and no looking back to sinking ships. |
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I'll strip the gauze for a rational self-analysis. "I'm down. Cut and bound. Counting scars, and counting blessings loud." |
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So loud. I must live to know that time alone is always healing as long as there's bleeding. |
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No regrets, or falling fits. |
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I'll strip the gauze and bleed it. |
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There's no worry. |
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It's only simple therapy. |
