1:15 
could be 
7
make no difference

A mind is plastic 
I feel 
the top of it 
against my hairline 

Soft bits  
blood, love, out 
downwards into 
my frame full of it

Like some 
rude mix of 
fright and 
highs  

Not really doing much just
lying here 
dreams  
pooling  

Taking a breath 
see the dark 
usually 
don’t  

Out of my 
current 
soaking 
it 

Thinking 
out of my skull 
into  
the night