Her temple is beating against her brain much harder than it should be
As she lays in that hospital bed and counts the stitches on her best friend's eye
As if they are stars forming constellations in the sky over the sea.
She pulls at her hair, wishing her head would stop pounding.
But what if it wasn’t pounding?
What if that ***** in her chest stopped pounding against her ribs?
She cannot see that it is the only other likely outcome of such a disastrous night.
She can’t thank god for the chaos in her life
Despite the fact that it is the only thing keeping her alive.
This chaos is the recipe that is being pumped into that IV
Through her veins
And to her beating heart,
Keeping that ******* pulse beating heavily
Against her beautiful mind
That sees scars as constellations
In the sky over the sea.
