In the crannies of my mind
For three long years. You drive the dull cells wild.
These nerves have been grated
to little red ribbons
All my pretty ones
they beat with the iambic drive of a sonnet.
Where does this train go?
Now the days, chlorine bleached,
burn through the membranes of my eye-lids.
That journey took my sleep with it.
You took my sleep with you.
surely those scars have been drawn on in grease paint