How I Fall Apart (When You Suffer)

I.

The four parts
of my heart
thrum a rhythm
against the sheath
of ice,
gripping their cavities,

and, in concert,
slide through
the space

where the rib I gave you
used to be,
leaving a ticklish sensation
as they squeeze through.

They abandon a residue 
of slow sadness
and frenetic anxiousness
in the emptiness. 

II.

My brain.

A haze presses
upon its folds,
exhausts the optic nerve,
leaves a rawness
behind my eyelids,
leaves a soreness
where the sclera meets the skull,

and draws the eyes
wide and weepy,

dispatches
pieces of static
across my scalp
and out
the hair follicles.

III.

My limbs,
like heavy branches
grasp,
fumble with 
the fruits of your sorrow,
weighted by
a frigid numbness.

Gravity drags
on weakened joints,
until the connective tissue
snap,

riving arteries
and veins,

disengaging bone
from bone,

permitting
my arms and legs
to disown
the thickness of my trunk.

IV.

I am no longer
a whole,
but mere parts,
disassembled,
pickled and
preserved in your pain.

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