Inside It's Orange by Cody Davis

I am tired of all this cold
and wet and hurt.

I fill my lungs with the inside air
and hold it, warm hugging,
stretchin’ my lungs until
they shrivel from the outside’s
wind and mean.

I grip and sand paper my hands
into a ball and friction them up
into a sweatin’ ammonia.

Sometimes I sit under dry places
and kick shit to keep warm.

I see people pushing their faces
through the wind’s ocean tide
and I wave to some, and I judge at some.

I take my poison to keep warm
and I hit it hard and it greens my eyes
and I let it fill my lungs.

It weeps around pushing against my life
and I walk it out to the door,
counting heel scrapes,

and it burns good in the cold,
and it burns good in this mean.

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