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By LessonOfTheMoth, Denver, CO

I have heart strings playing to the
tune of your spinal chords -

and I’m trying to cut every
one of them.

The photos from my camera throat may
be negatives, but my chemicals just
develop them differently - a concoction
of bad memories, of nightmares and photos
pushed face down into the desk
in the middle of the night in a sweat -

the time regret started to bloom like a corpse flower
in my chest, and left my words as poisonous,
passive-aggressive pin pricks;

making you sad isn’t a leisurely pleasure,

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