lips break like broken lines except there’s still an ellipsis: a beating heart; one dot after another, and zigzags on that groaning ecg.
i don’t know why don’t understand how a heart breaks itself, except that i feel it all the time: that suffocating weight that’s breaking the machine, connected to the fragile part of me; it’s telling me, it’s enough already, your heartbeats’ beating me too hard breaking us to a straight line.
a 180° line i wish to turn into the afterlife; away from these lying doctors whispering to my patched up body,
how can one b..breathe when the heart has finally agreed to kill itself?! how can you t..tell me to grow old in a cage w..when i can release myself?! is it love? selfishness?
one has to leave when one has to when the earth doesn’t remember you but is ready to welcome you back despite your epic failure, your disobedience to the doctors, the resonance of when God told the first humans, you must return to this dust;
tell me a story, a mishap that happened in the ’90’s; or should happen. don’t warn don’t bless don’t preach
to me, my future already, is the fortune cookie i’ve stepped on so many times in just a short time. so hold your peace, close my eyes, take a piece of me out of my mind & see for yourself:
i know the fucking future.
i know, lies play a huge role in your incantations. so, tell me a story of the past. tell me, what’ll happen next after a mother miscarries one who would’ve been a stillborn; but she lay still, locked souls with the unseen let herself be born – someone said it’s god. i have no idea.
she threw me shards of glass, gave me perfect cuts – a cup of tea; whispering,
you’re not good enough. you think?
i’m one of those who drew you y’know. hell yeah, i draw so damn well, bitch! draw out my veins, thread by thread, sew a dress to cover your naked body. draw up my drowning psyche from your ocean’s belly. draw you a picture of a man crushed by a sandstorm – teach you brownian motion the hard way [with art] through his body; close it up by turning yours to ashes,
or something inside of you, groping like you are.
some girl’s hand’s reaching out to me from a closed cupboard. it’s not dark, but i don’t see her; i just feel soft fingers doodle invisible marks on my chest, massage me slowly as if trying to say, “take it easy…easy…”
i’m trying not to binge live. but tell me, is there any other way round a bridge asides the one parallel to your trembling feet? i guess not.
i’m one who understands this world’s binary system – if it ain’t one,