Here I am,

like God’s eternal ATM machine.

Pouring out divinity

like science and your logic.

I am here now,

in the place that broke us up

frightened and alone.

Alive and screaming tryst.

I can’t sleep mate.

Thinking of you,

what you would do,

if you could fit into my shoes.

I know you would slip into them

if you were allowed,

but your souls a white cloud,

fluffy and light

and essentially empty.

So here I am.

Like a bruised stick

hitting a bruised wheel.

Alive with my phone,

a permanent symbol of this eternal emptiness.

Go on, take a piece,

everyone else has.

God’s fucking cash machine,

being bitten to death by the cowboys in my brain