There was a snapping sound from within as every taut string that had been holding my heart for so long flinched away, and the red thing dropped like a stone.

I felt my hands. They were cold and wet. Like a small ocean pebble, I lay there and waited for every shuddering wave to gently wash over, numbing every inch of me that had once felt so warm.

small acts of vandalism
tapestries on the back of blue bus seats
like plastic scars
and half moons
carved into my palms and cheek

and the cold glass
like a peppermint slap
reminds me of your breath;

chew, blow, snap.

As the night leaned close and killed the birds
I couldn’t hide; hide or see
a box quite big enough for two
so you could hide with me.