The Heart's Laceration

Do away the pain. Scrub it down to a clean wash. The filters of life are clogged, my delicate gills shaking in a frenzy. Tomorrow’s sales are promising— a snapshot bubbling with all the reflections of lights. I know the promise is as costly as sitting at the summit of the highest mountain. My dreams fall hard to a notion: that the stars are further out beyond my hands’ reach. But I see them with my bifocals, the bending of the hands, knees, and sweat on the brow— the strenuous efforts of my eyes squinting. The illusion of knowing you from a distance marries a new reality. The jabs of the heart lacerate the thin membrane that keeps me inches away from permanently coming to a close.