Guarding my heart;

What an idiosyncratic strategy.

People’s actions are carved straight lines on someone’s soft arms.

And their minds, saddled like horses,

nonplussed.

From behind, a wave of broken lightbulbs approaches,

Fragments of glass violently driven into the skin.
In those dead lights, memories are evaporated.

Only the surplus remnants of them are now able to fill the gaps.

This was accepted in advance.

Hearts are birds falling from great altitudes,

remembering a swan song on their way,

holding a printed picture of a beloved.