there are stitches on my fingers where you snapped them in half, when i reached down your throat, in search for your aching soul to hold. instead only finding pieces of your ice cold heart, the ventricles damp and clinging to your ribcage like leaches. they dripped slick oily blood and melancholy. my fingertips grasped to the pieces of your pulseless heart, and i dragged them up. i meant to mend them, to kiss them and stick them back together with my saliva, except just as i reached your tongue, you spit me out and broke me, just as i was trying to fix you.
YOU ARE READING
aching heart
Poetry[POETRY/PROSE] red poppies, aching hearts, and sweet cream. my first collection of poems - DRAFT & STILL UPDATING
