his alarm clock glows in the dark
a lighthouse for those days he
refuses to turn the lamp on
and his room smells
like a reheated dinner\'s apocalypse
spoilt milk and maggots in his mother\'s meatloaf
\'i am -- so tired\'
a cheek smushed against my bare shoulder,
a greasy half formed dread lock
hangs against my arm
and where his black hair grew through
is golden
he sings me to sleep with \'gloomy sunday\'
and i wake up in the night
clutched under his arm
he sobs into my hair
and i take shallow breaths,
so his cheeks don\'t turn red at breakfast
i fucking hate it
when you tell me to
\'hold my tongue\'
when your dad asks
if you\'re treating me well
you are-- you always are,
trapped under mountains of self doubt
and drinking cups of your own sadness
when your mother\'s words
wrap around your neck
like a hangman\'s cloak
and anxiety fills your chest with
sea water
I\'ll leave to catch the last bus
at judah and 19th
with salt in my mouth