Been doing a lot of thinking..

My legs are itching, twitching in the night time,
skin's falling off into all my clothes,
bones in my mouth, I'm spitting on myself in my sleep.
I wake up to the knocking on the doors.


I still can't edit anything I write,
and I'm running from every Zombie
and with every TV character I know.
They know where to find me;
in abandoned theatres, dusty garages,
underneath every piece of summer clothing I own


It's winter here,
the tail end
of cold seasons
dark rains and
girls in boots.

And why did I wash my hair?
Should be dressed in black,
holding your fingers in mine,
walking in the morning in my underwear
among bottles and old cups of tea.

I promise not to mind the dust any longer,
the smell of the carpets that I just want to lie on,
yellow rings in the tub,
the cat in the sink
bottle caps in my toes

Your sweet voice, your small appetite,
your puffy eyes in the late morning light
in the early afternoon shadows,
"Hold me, hold me," said the small child in his large bed
"Hold me, hold me," again as a young man
and the young woman thought,
"Hold me, god damnit, please,"
what I wouldn't do to feel you holding me.