hearts are way too fragile creatures
for you to make home for every stranger
in the depths of your ventricles ;
you should have dusted off their fingertips
the moment you realized they got in your pulse
but couldn’t quite resonate with
the soft thuds of your systoles
you should have known the mess they’ll make
when they would stretch between the valves
scratching the walls of your soul
screaming in your hollow being
and leaving you more dead than alive
what have you done, dear ?
do you know how many pills and unsent letters
it will take to forget their hands on your skin
their lips pressed against your collarbones ?
was it worth it ?