the bomb is afraid, sir

Source: Fagning

Your heart is only glitter, gasping out of a plastic tube. It tinkles feebly amongst the snow that drips from darkness with proficiency, excellence developed from whimsy and thoughtless calculations and years. Years of… dying. Then it shatters into mice tails that scatter into their holes at the sigh of a tamed waking.

The dust nails have punctured mothholes with sharpened beak, scabs settled on atriums. A bomb lodged itself in your chest, don’t detonate it with a crying hand.

Scratch them off in the rain and bleed with the glory that pours until the concrete stoppers, corks and erases the iron, powdered into galactic sand.

Squeeze the beats out of your gait and ride the horse towards me. Carefully, so the time beats faintly, without cause to burst.

I’m waiting with a rifle, to lick away the misery, raspberry and forget that they’re atomic. Unseen, ungrazed, once untouchable but now mine, sir. Sir, you need some bandages, I’m sorry to say you may never walk again. Do things slowly, so the bomb may rest inside you. It too, is afraid of death and shrapnel in its eye, and a million pieces that will never touch again.

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