Dec 07

the sound of telephone lines:

I broke your heart 

it poured out of your eyes 
and down your cheeks 
as you threw words at me 

like bricks through windowpanes 
breaking me a little more 
each time 

but I am sand 
not glass 

and my chest aches
when I breathe too fast 
and I remember the sound of your voice 
begging me to hold on 

my heart is bruised 
and a little sore 

but maybe thats because 
its been working so hard to keep you 
when it wanted to swim 

or maybe its because I've been 
throwing it against my rib cage 
and last night it finally cracked 

and now it gets to rest 
and so do the bees in my head 

that have spent countless nights 
flying round in circles 
trying to untangle my broken pieces 
and yours 

today the ocean lapped 
at my heart trying to 
turn it to stone and sink it 
deep below the waves

but I will be okay 
because I am still 
expanding at alarming rates 



The sound of three short breaths:

I think I broke 
my own heart too 

I felt it crack 
before the pieces fell
into my stomach 

now I have nothing 
behind my sternum 
and it hurts 

the nothing pulling 
at my intestines and liver 
making them ache 

until I'm holding the last piece
of fabric that smells like