Death of a Swordswallower

This is pretty much every art critique I've ever had.
And also how I feel people will interpret the next poem.

In our avoidance, sharing that
same tide that eddied and
flowed through the hallways
Before the light rushed
Breathe in

Bad habits and genetics pouring from
sleepy skin, large unwashed ears
The cure cost me all but
two locks of hair twisting upward
and your bottle of cheap brandy Breathe
Out

Alone you pluck the same song
Head cradled on a block of cedar breath
Stricken, leave me some navigation,
And wait for the Sans Hecate's lovechild
Turn