I always took you for succour
Don’t ask why
just help me
Like wine bleeding across a napkin
I splattered
But I am ever a dark red
thick, sour, wet
Like marbles strewn across paving stones
I scattered
colourful, childish, bright
Like old family photos wound up in second-hand bookshops
I tattered
noble, old and a bit tearful
This thing you call heart can’t be tidied like a purse
The mind can’t be rearranged like a room
That’s why I will say
just help me
don’t ask why
You I always took for succour​