Is that still you?
I remember days of not breathing
at the thought of your last breath,
of loose words
and using them to carefully twist
a heartstring hammock.

I can't see past the red in your eyes now,
the spots on your face like footprints, track marks,
soft and tired,
hard like needles.
They stripe your skin as if for an ancient battle,
for a war that soaks your empty spaces in kerosene
and scrapes the match off your wrist.

So while these butterflies pull my stomach
out my mouth, to the floor,
and your feet shuffle from the bombs erupting
down to your toes...
I can't bear the thought of a cloudless conscious,
of reality too close to the glass.
The thought that I can't save you from this,
because all I want
is to burn down with you.

Her angelic voice
Assaults the air waves
A kiss’s Supplanted on her lips
Inconsequentially.

Let's make music, I hear you say,
To flee from all the sorrows within the fray,
Let's make music, I hear you say,
So together you and I, we start to play,
We strum to the beat of the eagle's call,
We pound out the rhythm of the waterfalls,
We tap out the echo of the voice of May,
And together you and I, continue to play,
This isn't music, I hear in your voice,
I smile and knowing, that I have no choice,
Kiss you tender, underneath the moonlight,
And with this our souls, begin to sing
To the melody in the thrilling of our heartstrings.

today in biology class my teacher told us that when your heart beats faster and more irregularly, your heartstrings literally tug on your chest, causing your heart to hurt.

now I understand why my heart always hurt at the thought of you holding another girl.

but what I don't understand is that given the way you make me feel, why my heart hasn't started to bleed yet.

tug on your heartstrings,
remember what it is
to be human and
to feel.
nothing is more resonant
than a reverberating vibration
of positivity, in sorrow and in joy.