inhaling sleeveless dreams

There are no sleeves here  
to which to pin our hearts  
 
There are no hearts  
 
There is only a brokenness  
to connect those stumbling around  
beneath dead street lights  
with paint-stained faces  
and the nub of a cigarette  
that never found its way  
into already decaying lungs  
 
Oh... we’ll steal all the street signs  
because there is beauty in this void  
of empty beer cans and overused bong water  
 
But there is no key to lock the unhinged door  
when the windows are glassless eyes  
and there’s a schizophrenic mural on the wall  
in memory of the unborn children that died  
within our poisoned wombs  
our demons hidden for all to see  
 
Here  
we’re just hearts that used to be  
before life kissed us with the Devil’s hand  
and we lost our humanity  
for a deeper high  
than the grief and misery  
we continue to inhale  
 
© Indie Adams 2012