I am afraid of pain,
So instead of wrists,
I cut my heart
With every inevitable slice,
I stay standing, beating
As if my heart is whole,
As if it is the manipulator of my soul,
Shaking my chest,
I heave in and out,
Desperate,
For air,
For relief,
For an explosion,
As the pain accumulates.
So when my mouth starts moving,
I realize its at
A screen,
A mirror,
An image,
For the illusion of explosion, to convince myself,
The only one who should place their hand,
Over my heart,
And feel its beat,
It's inevitable end,
Is myself
Because to risk another caressing my heart,
The cutting board of my pain,
Is risking their shaking hand to want to
Strangle it,
To cease its beating,
Not in an attempt to stop,
But to slow down,
To risk them ripping it out,
Holding my beating heart in their hands,
Terror on their face,
As they realize,
My heart is too rotten to heal,
Too damaged to slow,
Simultaneously
Trading their heart for mine,
And mine for theirs.
-k
