Bitter cuts that sting with red

and throb with blood

today form

and become.
I’ve lost my heart,
I’ve lost my heart.

Your eyes and freckles touched mine

and rained tears

on our necks

and shoulders.
My soul is torn,
My soul is gone.

I've read things written on your body

just to spite me

by your lover

and your captor.
My body drags,
My body tires.

“He is like a poltergeist,”

I tell her, shaking,

“becoming more dead

by the minute.”
I am hunted.
I am haunted.

I tell her: “I’ve lost my heart,

my soul is gone,

my body drags,

and I am hunted.

But, sure, I’ll play along.”