#88

i have a nice little heart. i assume it's nice. it has continued pumping and pumping away.

my hands are a little too big. they make it hard to play music and so i listen to my heart. beating away, like a drum. a little bongo keeping time to a songwriter's lyrics. sometimes it is very loud, so i hold my breath till i can't hear it anymore. but then i breathe quickly, gasping, and it is a war drum. it is painted and chanting, and pushing its way out, i can see it under my thin skin. then i push on it. push down with my thick hands, my long fingers, ragged nails.

somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind is where i keep my Self. it is better this way.