Sheets becoming skin
As I refuse to leave them
Ever again.
And when the electric wind
Pumps into my lungs
Fresh and cold and somehow
More real and fine that an ocean mist,
I drink it in and drop beads of sweat
Like beats from a hip hop band
Who never quite made it
But continue following their dreams,
Thumping and jumping like a
Failing heart in a field of amber grain.
And maybe he’ll find something
I haven’t even sniffed out.
But I’ve bought so many cages of blood
Hounds who refuse to help,
And my bed keeps breaking.
It’s the only reason
I’ve ever left home.