Proof of Life
Last night I wrenched
Open my chest
Leaned over my desk
And let my heart flop out
Onto the page
It thumped and bled for a bit
Until the paper stained through
And I was long enough empty
I scooped it up and shoved
The mass back inside
Quivering
I sewed and shut that sodden chapter
Splattering
And wiped my hands on my jeans
So there we sat
Human and paper
Disfigured and dripping
I ached but was alive
I stood up and walked away
I should go back today
And save those wretched pages soon
Before they dry and congeal
Stick together and conceal
That sanguine proof of life
I once let loose
-ar
Painting: Island by Michael Sanderson
A repost.
sometimesihatemycat 
Powerful. Visceral. Sad.
Yesterday was a sad day, better today. It comes and goes as these things often do. But yes, either way, always visceral.
I am glad today is better.