Work Text:
I live at the edge of a Heart.
It is not mine. I refuse to claim it.
People come in fleeting drones,
Like pigeons in the bloodstream.
They cycle, renew, leave and repeat.
I live at the edge of a Heart.
It beats like drums. Then like whispers.
Beyond the Heart is a jungle,
It has no roads nor light.
You need wings to journey there.
I live at the edge of a Heart.
It’s tired.
The lungs inhale and exhale against,
Reminding you of the time.
Yet, you still wait.
I live at the edge of a Heart.
It’s unlike the other organs. It just beats.
Because pigeons can navigate jungles,
And know when it’s time to leave.
And their departure is painful,
With talons scarring your hand,
And marks that never heal.
I live at the edge of my Heart.
I hate it.
The center is a pure love,
Unloved and lonesome.
I swore to never return.