heart doesn't know how but
it still / moves
it's supposed to keep rhythm
but it's out of time
it's growing old so early
and refusing to grow up
it's stuck in the centre of the spine
green but not with envy
it's breaking its host body
refusing to mimic regularity
its swinging blood around this miniature world
but it doesn't work towards a life
it permits organs of sadness
and cells of confusion,
atoms of melancholy
to float around, meandering
it desperately needs coffee
it knows it's not good for it but
it wants to fuck itself up
it wants to lie on the floor
it wants to feel allowed to fail
it wants to stay at the bottom --
why must it climb
to sit so high on the spine ?
it feels embarrassed about being a heart
it hurts to beat
it throws itself at others, not out of need
but out of a desire to touch, to connect, to feel..
that's different, it insists :
a heart needs a ribcage to sit within,
it needs a pulse to follow
it needs hands to hold it
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