my heart is locked
inside my chest, but if i could
i'd cut it out for you to see. it would be
a messy sort of maneuver, all blood
and bone and gristle. i might need
to take mental leave of the proceedings,
which would call for even more
hurried work of the hacksaw. but once
you're satisfied, once your fears are settled,
(or whenever it is that you feel that you are ready,)
you can stitch me back up, sew up the
holes, and together we'll try to sand
the stains from your hands.
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