Random Things I've Been Writing At Three in the Morning

Apparently at three in the morning, I revert back to teenagehood, slap some Airborne Toxic Event on the stereo and have myself a good cuttingcry.

My soul is blistered
My skin doesn't fit
I am the nails
And the chalkboard
I just miss my connection
And stand on the corner
Bleeding into the gutter
I can no longer taste you
In the dregs of my wine
While the night swarms outside
And all my little failures come creeping, creeping
Through the key hole
Through the floor boards
Through the rise and fall of your breath
Under my arm
Against my chest
As I stir from the warmth of your skin
And you feel me against your thigh, and smile
"Save it for morning", you mumble
But morning's never going to come
There's only now the night, swarming
And the course silence

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