Squeezing my heart with bare hands,
Trying to grasp the last sunlight of the day,
I can’t feel my feet touch the ground.
My ribcage is opened up
And my hand is wrist-deep inside;
I’m trying to stop the seizures
That the scorching tune of your voice makes me have
Everytime I hear it.
I turn hot, I turn cold;
I’m in the middle of a typhoon,
Not seeing a way out.
The absurdity of the windy vacuum I’m in
Brings the quiet words that you’ve once said.
They aren’t going away.
They tangle around my wrists
And push them deeper into the ribcage.
The seizures have stopped,
But I can’t let go of my heart;
I keep squeezing it until the vaccuum blurrs away
And I can’t hear your voice anymore.