Bruises

I spend my days
in the half light
smoking stale tobbaco,
the only tobbaco that I'm left,
musing at the bruises betweem my thighs
wondering how
life is full of surprises
yet I'm never surprised
by the people that can bruise my heart.
The moment I meet them
I recognise them in an instant
as if something inside me said
"Hello there tormentor.
I have been waiting for you."