these hands are dead weightMature

these hands are dead weight and your body is bruising beneath them.
this heart is a ticking grenade, a landmine, a guided missle
headed straight for your ribs and, God, darling,
don’t you know I've swallowed shrapnel bigger than you?
Yet you keep circling back to this spectacle in the woods,
this pentagram drawn in sacrificial blood beneath the harvest moon
and science always says there’s an explanation for everything but
I can’t explain the black hole in my chest when they don’t see it
in the x-rays, the morphine drip does nothing and I am too tired
to keep explaining that these hands are dead weight, these
lips are concrete anchors just waiting to kiss you and
my whole body is an ocean just waiting to welcome you.

The End

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