Sunday, August 11, 2019

Your Heart

I wrote a story into your heart, boy.
I burrowed my way in,
The signs of my passage
Scratching into your veins
I found some unguarded entrance
And I stole myself into your very being
The things I've left have become intrinsic
A thing written into the first stones,
Into the walls behind your eyes,
Littered in fragments across the soil
A stranger's thoughts,
Buried under a foreign paving stone,
Upon which you've already begun to lay your foundations
Even if you were to find the things I've left inside you,
The sentences that come uncalled,
Certain feelings that ride in with the rain,
A slowly dissapearing photograph
Of a photograph within your mind,
You wouldn't be able to extricate them
Even if you were to flay yourself
With the most surgical precision,
Unravel your thoughts like taffy,
And attempt to remove those single threads
From your gilded tapestry,
You could, at best,
Re-write yourself,
Putty over every sign and symbol,
Scrape off every fingerprint burned into the bastion walls
But even then you'd know
Every time you stumbled over
The chisel marks and paints
That marked like graves
What you'd fought and labored against,
Reworked into an image so carefully chosen,
You'd know
You'd remember having done it
And remember what you'd tried to make undone
And in this way only deepen the marks,
Tracing and relining them
With both reverent and hateful fingers
And maybe no one would know but you
But every stone is built on top of another
And from now until your body stills
You will live
Carrying onward,
Carrying some part of me I left behind,
Writing stories across the secret chambers
In the beating breasts of others
And I'll always be there with you, boy
Together you and I will walk this road
We will walk this road forever,
To heart
To heart

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