Today I found a baby's glove
Lying on the drainage board so still
Yesterday a leather glove
From the slim hand of a woman
The next time I saw one it was lying half frozen and twisted on the kerp..and I couldn't take it...
Now I have my own private collection
All lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doors
Now I have no room for my obsession
Lined up and labelled in neat little packets
The next time I saw one it stuck inside my head and became all that I could think about.
And through wax seals and padlocks...
A hand through my ribcage.
Past the choking
I saw palms and fingers
Grasping shoulders...
Collarbone...
Crushing.
I imagined myself hacking desperately at a sea of appendages,
Forward and right,
Freeing myself like a butcher,
Feeling the mash of bone and sinew
Running slowly down the front of my body
...and I couldn't take it any more!
I said, "I've got to go,
I've got to get out of here,"
And I ran down the street,
I've got to get go,
I've got to get out of here,
I've got to go,
I've got to go..
Writer(s): Faris Adam Derar Badwan, Thomas Furse Fairfax Cowan, Joseph Patrick Spurgeon, Rhys Timothy Somerset Webb, Joshua Mark Hayward
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