Tuesday, February 23, 2016 - 6:39pm


Illustration by Kelsi Franzino


I’ve grown weary of my treacherous heart
for too long it’s sat vapid in my breast 
a thankless burden I could do without
like a scythe cutting silk it whispers in the night
the truths wound deeper than the lies
with yellowed nails I dug in deep
cracked through my ribs and slipped through sinew
I pulled it out with an old coat hanger
cleansed the wound with warm watered wine
and sewed it closed with willow vines
I’ve kept the withered thing in a mason jar
filled with formaldehyde
it’s grown an eye and watches me sleep
sometimes I ask him what he’s called
he has yet to answer me