Papercut in the finger joint,

Belly full of sweet waters and bad dreams;
There are very few things I wouldn’t do for this,
A million miles and a few months.
Years and years of yearning.
A heathen again,
A half hearted hallelujah,
A hollow harmony.
Dirty nails long and sweetly sutured skin,
Flesh forever mirroring a crosshatched god,
Mouthful of blood,
Pine needles, honeysuckle and apricot,
A centipede season wherever you aren’t 
 
What do you do when fun isn’t fun anymore?