not a good sign

you don't have your head on straight
because you left it by the bed this morning

and indigo veins trace paper thin skin

hoping for better weather and shorter days
but you hate the weather
and the headlines

lost in a nonchalant smile
and a pocket of unnamed pills
laced with fever dreams

engulfed in red
but you're blue on the inside and it's creeping to the outside

battered knuckles, bloodied and  bruised
is the perfect color to match you other wounds

saying good morning to the dead
too busy counting shadows
to notice the sun went down an hour ago

poking bruises that showed up out of nowhere
sleeping with shoes on

these aren't good sign