Broken Feet, Reckless Heart

I have three favourite places in the world.

On the road;

By burning tyres or bleeding feet,

Tour de Universe.

No one nay judge nor question a traveller,

Whether small, anonymous, or dragging an eager body behind whilst on hands and knees.

The vehicle vibrations expand depth,

Though every place will feel the same,

Mere Braille through invention of man.

Barefoot I travel, redeeming myself on uncut grass, serving myself on rocky metal;

My feet are the pavements I chase, the alcoholic city nights, shallow puddles, deeper snow.

There exists no road to home, as the road is home.

In the shower;

Naked, vulnerable, yet unafraid.

The third degree burns cleanse my sins of the day.

Raised white lines embroider skin, mascara eyes paint with undisclosed emotion.

I am inside a coffin and water is pouring in.

Searing unsalted tears grace my skin, burning, smoking.

I set myself on fire.

Yet the flames bring comfort, an embrace.

No one cares of a woman in flames, drowning in a glass coffin,

Because she loves it.

In your arms;

Collapsing into wings, feathery outstretched after a hard days labour, building up a thousand bricks of isolation, only to bring it down with my shoulders.

Indulgent scent alluring, I am tentative.

Is this bitter fictional, another hallucination?

Please slay the anxieties,

Give my aching bones hope,

Wash them with barely warm water,

Towel them with your tranquil locks,

Lay them to rest beside you, a soft kiss for each fragment.

Never no lack of comfort,

For my heavy head,

And its melancholy content.

Your mellow breaths I capture,

Your softer words I keep,

Lightening the emotional rucksack,

Bless you.