Heart Sleeves and Mazes
She:
Not many can see…
He wears hearts on his sleeve
Never his own, ever another’s
Knit tight like a sweater
With veins knotted like yarn
Blood colouring the hugging mess
A maroon tide across his arms
Beating like a dead orchestra
Down his fingers the vena cava empty
Arteries pooling out into infinity
Clotted sludge smeared across his knuckles
The tired hearts hiding scars on muscles
A collective decoration of gore
To which my own will be one more…
He:
The layers pile on, an onion unpeeled
My knife won’t cut deep…enough
She’s adamant and confused, like a maze
I can’t see straight; unruly and tough
To try is to fail; I’m sick
of these games, fire and flame
All burn out at the wick
So I’ll put it out myself, before
A trap is laid out and set
so I fall for her more.
He & She:
I tried.
It’s not meant to be.
Sever and snip (never stitch)
Now I’m finally free.
The Tea-Infused Typewriter 