(no subject)

my words get as empty as your full bottle
i run out of poetry
morning comes and sleep won't get away from me
my back is used to bed
my eyes won't get used to the sun
the tickles in the womb take sound that grows louder and louder and i start to wonder if it will ever go away
your maggots are corrosing my insides and no child won't ever leave this tired body once your dirt has obstructed every way it could get out through
i still see the stains in your glass while looking through moon's grin and beyond it we are still crystal clear
i'm not glad of it anymore
and don't you dare trying to wipe me out
soon this mess will be home