prozac

only the clouds are left here white,
above your bloody crimson back -
sky turning purple, not yet black.
painted nails and twilight shadows,
and the ones that hide your eyes,
foreign shoulders, foreign guilt,
the fake cathedrals that you’ve built,
a pierced lip and a two hour’s rest,
an ace bandage covered chest -
the weight of metal on your tongue
and all the words that barely stung
only the clouds are left here, white,
and staying alive out of spite