the broken bones make me think of you

The shards of bone grated across the top of my mouth  
it was the time of day when everything that could go wrong  
would piss on the floor in blood stains  
and make a smell we’d be incensing out for days  
 
Words have never been any good at describing  
how much I miss the depravity of his soul  
in the vein of gothic skull-fucking foreplay  
that reached my poetic tastes more than my erotic ones  
though I’d have burned my underwear just to tell him  
he set me on fire  
 
Because love is a funny thing  
that reaches beyond the scars we wear around  
like chainmail amour, telling the world we’re jaded  
we’re fucked, we’re weird  
and we like it  
 
It was the time of day for cigarette burns  
fingers slammed in car doors and one more missing tooth  
with the crumbling bones scuttling urgently into my hands  
bloodied with spit  
 
It was the realisation that life would be so much easier  
if money grew on trees  
because broken teeth don’t pave the way to a better life  
despite the 18th century rumours  
that digging graves will get you paid  
 
And I…  
I was a scab that I couldn’t stop picking at  
because I itched and had the perverse desire to bleed  
without cutting myself open to see what was inside  
 
And despite the broken bones  
hunger pangs and mild codeine high  
despite pissing blood and unintentionally inhaling chilli flakes while cooking  
I wanted him there to take my hand  
and tell me pain never killed anyone  
though at the time it feels like we’re dying  
 
It was the time of day where everything bleeds  
heart ache, just another symptom to know you’re alive  
among all the other aches and itches that won’t be scratched  
or sated by any medically induced high  
 
It was the time of day where words fail the haemophiliac heart  
I miss you  
 
© Indie Adams 2014