17 Days
Since last we saw each other,
See here, what I have done
These are the strings I have attached
Like a fine puppeteer to my heart
Knotted the aorta to the blue line,
The pulmonary atrium to the green,
And the left ventricle to the red.
The blood rushes through smoothly
Then twist into tangled messes.
Floating around violently against the
Left atrium digging against the wall
Looking for exits that don’t exist.
I have so little control pulling at the strings,
As you well know.
All the valves working, but the rhythm is off.
A skipped beat, a forgotten moment,
Another lonely night.
I am a sloppy puppeteer, my dear.
I am not good at the slight tugs of the lines,
The sudden pulls to move right,
The operation of the emotion.
I want to be a master class
More agile and elegant
Moving like you do,
Nearly enchanting the strings to work on their own.
So I have this sad puppet of a heart
Which I hand over begrudgingly.
It belongs with someone that knows how to use it.
Entertain the women to come
With the way you can make it dance
And manipulate it to stop
inkdamage 