Succour

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​