the winds attempts at tearing me apart
were exhausting on my tired remains
but it was masking the smell of alcohol
a drunken stranger had spilt on my jeans
my red eyed lack of sleep warps your form
into static blurs of misery I was responsible for
the soft edges of your haunted glare were burning holes
in the back my throat and I wanted to die
or pick up a sharp rock to split myself with
for a while you kept my blood settled
but now I'm spilling at the edges 
and trying not to drown in myself
or the hatred I could see sprouting
like sharpened thorns from your chest.