A Day

Wed, 10/25/2017 - 19:28 -- lacyc

The pulse meant you were alive,
rocking back and forth, i cried last night,
something about how difficult life was, 
saying we had the same conversation a million fucking times, 
this heart beats slowly, stop-motion in a single sad drop,

what was dripping again?

an unbearable sadness, speak
they don’t think its valid, 
i think i need help,
i think you’re too callous, 

a droopy wavy day, 
i don’t know what to say,
or how to respond, 
i remember not being able to 
find my pulse,
and briefly thinking, 
i don’t have a heart.

This poem is about: 


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