Borne Fruit

I can feel the muscles and tendon

peeling off my heart,

like an orange;

fingers digging in,

scrapping off the white of the rind.



The snapping off and losing

feels like there is blood oozing

from every raw abrasion.

Perhaps this is how skin is turned into leather;

the chemical burns,

the scraping,

the drying out,

chewing it again so it is pliable -

soft again as if not dead.



I don't want to say your name out loud anymore;

I'm struggling dealing with the damage that ensues.

Each time I think of you,

there is a dull plunk, as something pulls away;

my heart, this pulpy mess,

misses you.



Ariel

Nov 13, 2013