I am working on something more verbose in regards to today but until then, here is some poetry I wrote a couple weeks ago that is relevant now.
My bones caress the aching of my heart.
“Who will love me?”
Torn between possession and craze, the heart chooses…
Their rhythmic comfort soothes the heart.
But bones, bones are forceful. They move without permission, coercing the heart into unsteadiness, quickness.
“Where are we going?”
Forgetful, the heart is captivated by the strength and confidence of the bones.
“I know who loves me.”
Breathe is squelched, the heart fails to remember, bones are crushing.
“I am dead.”