Scoff At Poetry, I Used To

somewhere in the midst of night
emotions are set to words  
cracking through  
the redundancy of the working class
where the cold comfort of the bottom of a glass
is a mother's hug
a lover's kiss
a dream fractionated into a nightmare  
it folds like a paper people chain
doused in metho'
millimetres from a lit match
 
heart on fire in the burn of spirits
at 2am legs are rudderless bastards
I can only lisp a shattered fury into the ether
 
there's rage  
frantic burning and vivid brush strokes
somewhere the broken,  
the meek
the faint of heart  
can see fallen beauty  
built not on thoughtless habit of day to day but built from upon an open canvas  
 
I see the composition of a gorgeous  symphony  
in the curves of a woman
 
shes wears a sultry smile  
above her bare chest
her mascara trickles  
gloaming eyes cut me deeper
than all the lovers I no longer hold