I am certain that your skin hangs loosely,
draped over your bones like an ill-fitting suit
the edges of your mouth drawn up like
the arms of a marionette,
human in every observable way –
suspiciously human, carefully constructed,
a lump of deception molded into a
humanoid sculpture

i’ve taken empathy for granted as
a natural human instinct.
I cut off a piece of my heart and
mailed it to you, with a note that said,
“the least you could do is try”
but you tore it up between your teeth
and spat the pieces at my feet

I’ve always had faith in time,
believed that wisdom and control
are sitting on a shelf in the back of our brains
on a timer
ticking in time with our heart,
but I guess that doesn’t apply to you
because time is a man made concept
and your heart is an intricate prop

you are a piece from a different collection
than me
your artist painted with black and blue,
cold colors