it has begun to char again. this heart, that is. this heart that caves
in upon itself, heaving up beating bits of blood,
carving off crimson to the slaughter.
(to some sort of sacrilegious sacrifice.)
& tell me:
why does my heart not whirl in mechanical synchronization?
why does my chest not click, a metallic machine that no god ever created
(click, click, click).
& do you ever remember a moment (yes,
a fraction of a moment) when this heart existed,
of cerulean butterflies & twilight moonlight?
dancing with naked feet on sandy, pitch beaches.
plucking ripe apples off of divine morsels
of nature humanity did not deserve to desecrate. no,
no. this heart was manufactured
for ones & zeros,
true & false,
but, it has begun to char again,
put to the scorching. some sort of hellfire/holy fire/an angel's burning breath.
& it would be easier to be metal.
ticking, melted clocks & spinning gears. malfunctions that have explanations.
(but, watch the heart's flesh flake off, black & molted. watch closely. watch this metamorphosis occur. blood to wires. thoughts to code. meat to metal).
& a scorching may come / [a scorching will come], / & my lethal liquefaction will arrive / [silver skin melting, dripping, shining]./ but, these metallic lips will give an electric grin / & whisper: "it is time."
This makes utterly no sense. I've been in a little bit of a writer's block lately. Well, I don't know if I would call it 'writer's block.' It's more of a "I have no motivation to do anything." But I tried to churn something out, and honestly, this is pure nonsense. Though, I did want to write something nonsensical, so there you have it?