Vitriol and Oil

I don’t like the colours

escaping from my mouth

seeking the shelter of drains,

the solitude

deafening,

desperate escape from

the sounds of my suffering,

this life feels like a cracking pane of glass,

and teetering on the edge

is so tiresome,

a distant train scratches at its tracks

the smell outside repelling all but rats

gathering in tribes, war paint from the skies,

rubbing the acid in

for somewhere to belong.

I slept with peace for a moment

and awakened to the world burning

faceless governments devouring themselves,

the drunks from the bar out of charge

and depleted, bent double

gathering change from the gutters.

My body aches from the memories,

she used to lay so close,

so warm,

but now the bed is cold

while the world

becomes warmer.

I leaked a great rainbow

of vitriol and oil

and desperately painted my way towards a new life,

never realising

I was digging the hole

my body would be placed in

the colour dissolved, the world

turned grim grey.

Your unwanted technology,

tossed aside when unproductive,

the furnace’s fire dwindling,

but the scorching touch

still burning,

still leaving scars.