i sit here
during an ungodly hour
wondering if it was right or
if i actual have feelings for a person
who stings my heart
the way the bumble bee stung
my toes when I was eight years old.

i sit here
during god’s soft cries
thinking if only i had left or
said goodbye earlier to the boy
who took my heart into his strong, veiny hands
and individually broke every piece of my blood-pumping *****,
making sure nothing was left
but the shards of my heart
that would give me splinters
throughout my hands
and arms
and chest
and lungs.

maybe if i had left or
said goodbye earlier,
then maybe i wouldn't be here
with sand bags under my eyes.