Jakkar

It was the marks that reminded me, Making it only six days Til you had to be put back. On the edge of my bed, In your shirt and someone else's socks, And cold hands. There were too many hours, And too many marks, Like the marks on my skin. No clean getaway, just Dirty failed distance, marked By blood and salt and six years. Six years of blue tack, Five pence per photograph deals, Nights like this on the edge of my bed, When you would hold my hand.