Strained and untested.
(You’re not the only one)
Friday night and frantic.
Planned to get arrested.
They’ll pick up pieces of you in the morning.
Who flew your sanity out of here?
Drunk without a warning.
Stabs at conversations so unclear.
Saints be praised such holiness.
Washes over these tired feet.
Picked apart then slowly undressed.
This divine and damaged piece of meat.
Yet I am not here for touching.
I am not here for loving.
The stains wash out in the headache of tomorrow.
And my heart yearns only for yesterday.