You--spill over margins,

between lines

lace ink

with weakness--Your--

trembling fingers

aching viscera

cold sweats--pouring between shoulders,

and flinching limbs--blood pumped by,

a coward's heart

a historian's heart

who lays glyphs

and cries for the hero--You--

goddamn

yellowbellied

gunshy

pansy-ass

humanities major--obsessed with the palpitations of organs,

laying the pansy-ass glyphs--You--

artist

writer

lover

not fighter

and your good 

for nothing

tears.