25

My three-wall brick room
Swings from my car’s axle.
The smell of burning brings
The floor closer to the road
With every mile.

Inside, I cut my knuckles on rust,
Break my wrists to keep my balance.
Bulletproof shards
Engrave maps
Across my chest;
Some psycho skin graft,
The dot-to-dot I can never
Let my children see.

Every night is the same:
I plot escape routes on the map,
Lines bleeding down
Alleyways,
Tyre marks to
A place to dig my
Nails in, drag them backwards through the

Brick dust and glass, just to leave
My crimson skin shards in the road,
Heart-drop breadcrumbs
To bring me back home.

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About DickensianJack

Born in Wolverhampton in November '93, moved to Huddersfield in September 2012. Studying at the University of Huddersfield. In love with the town - simple as that. As for the blog itself, I've been doing bits and pieces of writing (with varying quality) for a few years. A friend suggested I start a blog to share my work. Most of the stuff on here is poems, but there's other work interspersed on the page. Feel free to leave any comments on my work. Twitter: @DickensianJack (Jack Dickens) Facebook: www.facebook.com/dickensianjack Cheers, enjoy.
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