Needles against my skin.
I’ll never be silk again.
Hurricanes and explosions, that is how you pump.
I can’t hear my heart, can you feel my chaos?
Can you feel, my chaos?
Blood transfusion is soiled.
And your beat is a black plague.
She asked, Can you stitch me up, darling?
I can’t hear my heart.
Can you stitch me up?
Sutures sunder wide, he severs
Beneath this sound, the
***a collaboration with my friend and fellow writer Jace Darcangelo, influenced by Dr. Glancy’s Advanced Creative Writing class and The Chariot (of course)