sunken, vulnerable hearts.
the electric rush of blood in veins.
a shaky and faltering bravado.
this is what it feels like to be human.

yet they tell the children that happiness is a phonograph:
naturally stable, unwaveringly rhythmic
perpetually uninterrupted.

the darkest chords of joyful hearts are
struck down by futile dreams of endless complacency.

but life happens on the fringes of commonplace joy.
it happens with a sunken, vulnerable heart,
the electric rush of blood in veins.
a shaky and faltering bravado.

there is beauty in madness,
majesty in sadness,
delicacy in pain.