Parts of me are leaking, spilling onto the floor like dark ink.
Those that can see avoid it like the Black Death.
Maybe they’re the clever ones.

But I see you, your hands stained dark as night.
The brightness in your eyes is the only light I can see; a beacon.

I watch as your tinted hands wrap around my exposed heart.
At first, I misunderstand. Think the light is a twinkle when it is a glint.

And then you squeeze.