Before I recovered.

I have beaten my wrists up and down
The pavements of this friendly city.
My cries have echoed off these midnight rooftops.
Even at some dusks have they buried themselves
Under bridges in the dirt
To surrender
to sleep.

Always restless, but willing to try.
To reach out to touch someone’s heart or thigh.
Helplessly wondering and alley bound.
Wearing masks of compulsion and pain,
To drip from my fiend grin in the spiting rain.

My eyes risen with the grief for my own lost cause.
Wiping the running of my nose on my filthy fingers and thieving hands.
I shame my own self, once again.
The quiet desperation now howls with a longing to be heard.
Anyone, anyone…someone.

A catalyst it is,
To this pale spirit and this outlandish heart.

-JMR