Dawn woke you up.
You feel like hell.
Swaying slightly
In the doorway
Of your crypt—
That beating
You took,
Down at the
Bronze
Painfully
Lingers.
"I have Art
Homework."
You squint
Against the sun,
Which cuts like
A knife.
"I need to paint
Somebody.
Somebody
Real.
You'll do."
Wordless,
You hold out
Your hand;
Dawn
Slaps down
Five bucks.
It's more than
You got
Picking
Pockets
Last night
Before
Getting
Caught.
"Whatever, Niblet."
Lighting up,
You slide down
The doorframe,
Stone cold
At your back,
Blood and beer
Cradled in
You hands
As crosslegged
Dawn paints
In the sun,
Talking of
Nothing
As you doze,
Bruises
Slipping away,
So much
Cigarette
Ash in the
Wind.
Staring down
At Dawn's
Stolen work,
You now
Sit alone,
In a
Hospital bed,
Hands
Recently
Stitched on—
She'd left out
The bruises,
The money
Long spent,
Knowing
You
Can never
Go
Home.