How does this heart bend and mould
from a confined chest
into a hand to hold.
Does it move by one accord
or with a riotous play that
leaves you scorned?
Will it travel back and stray again?
I’ve heard trough time all pain will mend.
But can I stop the rampant rush?
The heat, the lush, the mush and guts.
I pushed it back, I clinched it tight.
I begged that demon not to fight.
But it’s still —
Slowing seeping into my skin
rushing out at every brim.