I waited for you and missed half of Act One
Whose kind words do I speak to?
The whimsical air and the tired cold;
they’re sick of hearing me claw at them,
with devastating affection.
And I don’t sleep because I don’t like waking up;
I wander the night, imitating the day,
with all the lights on, wasting power..
hoping you dream in bright colours.
And whilst you’re away with whoever
is easier to be with than me;
I’m wasting away on toffee-water
and television; watching a space
I cannot fill, because I do not fit.
So perhaps I’ll make myself a short skirt
of confectionary wrappers, and used straws;
And dance with my opened-chest cavity
til important enough to return to;
til you cough back up
my half-digested heart,
somewhere around my feet
so I can scrap it up with a shovel,
and hopefully remember what it does
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