lover, we twist ourselves like melted pipes, let our medals intertwined in the heat between us, so even when you leave, i still have pieces of you evermore forged into my being. how many times will i say i miss you when you're gone? how many times will i remember the times we fought, teeth bared like dying horses, joints tense like burnt driftwood - and call us lovely? how are we able to find the beauty in the wreckage?
the heart is just an organ - i decide to stay with you because my mind doesn't know any other option. so i'll lie with you, i'll hold you after we scratch ourselves into blocks of scarred marble. if you're lucky, i'll even die with you.
YOU ARE READING
the heart is just an organ
Poetrypoems and thoughts and drabbles that'll never get published anywhere else
