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
I sewed and shut that sodden chapter
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


Painting: Island by Michael Sanderson

A repost.

~ by April on September 7, 2017.

3 Responses to “Proof of Life”

  1. Powerful. Visceral. Sad.

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