markbousfield

I can't stand this house,
with leaves on the floor and clothes on the line
it stinks like fucking dark.
like the dark under trains as they pass me by,
she uses it,
paints angels with it,
not enough vitamin in my breakfast,
the humming of the stars as they turn,
I'm lying in the gutter,
the quickest way to Hell I'll tell you,
I used to look at the spaces where I breathed,
leave me here,
the street outside my home
with big fucking gates to keep you in,
me?
I left a trail to this years ago,
in a dream.