beating

i was aching to lash my feet into the wet balcony tile

and my knees were scenting the rain like budding dogs

flowered out from their small furs. 

my mouth is dry and i am guilty knowing 

i have made someone feel something for me, 

and that person is probably at fault 

but i am writing this with my fingers and 

my own trophied destruction is at hand. 

And i fucking love to feel like shit and 

bash my brains out on poetry 

and i love to cry, or be close to tears 

and feel like i have come unstuck from 

what i was and what i should become. 

And i want to rub eels on my chest

and let them crawl into my vortex, wriggle 

like fingers in cement as i shovel 

more shit out from my heart. 

my heart is the problem, i don't know why. 

is it because it just keeps on fucking beating?