no shelter

his lips bear the sharp taste of blood, where he bit himself
his nose blocked, in the morning chill. bathed in acrid sweat
the sheets matching his wild hair, dishevelled and scruffed up
his face fixed in a daze, confused by the maelstrom in his head
his eyes hollow and gaunt, red veins spiderwebs upon the white
the stark images flashing in his mind, at speeds quite varied