Current Residence: love
out of codeThis is my heart, or notout of code by inmyroom
you are more like a pulse
jirating and dehydrating
across far away lands,
hello little lungs, I am sorry
you are so afraid of what I will do next
of how I strangle you
with cigarettes, and you, skin,
you fear me, you fear how I do not eat
for days on end and make you cling
to dry bone.
This is what happens, you see
every so often, I get a little crazy, a little sad
and I claw to things, I crawl with my hips
and shoulders. I scratch my fingers across raw wood
thinking maybe, this time will blow my heart
into relapse. Oh, I am so sad. Oh, you will be there any time.
Oh, help me.
I sit here, with my heart all heavy, unfull of grace,
rotating dates, pulling out the figs that are dying
wishing that maybe, one day, it will be my turn
to be pulled out.