The damp patch was spreading
Like the cracked plaster,
In the corner of the room,
And in the damp,
Where the skirting meets the crack,
He sits
With naked knees to a naked chest.

Bloodshot eyes drop tears freely
To the piss soden floor,
The fresh cigarette burns
Sting and mingle with the scars of before.

Nothing to do now, but wait
For the moon to deepen the shadow of the crack
And darken its contours,
Like the bruising on his skin.