Forever tired and worn,
my shitbroke heart
is simple
and barely bound
in tangled ribbons round’ you.

(Mine, which anchored
by countlessly caring strings,
is moored high
in the distant and colorless sky,
has no tie
any stronger than your reflexive hold.)

So frail,
our lowly hearts beat.
Their tender rhythm,
is barely heard
above the dark roar
of forever falling worlds.

But, this thin muscle tie
lies loosely
over cataclysms
of jagged, untamable land,
safely sending
impulses imploring the other to stay.

How much worry
this string will always bring.
No matter where
its tired twin is;
far beyond
death’s unyielding curtain
or a fingertip away.

How much eternal loneliness felt,
despite what
in better poems and persons,
is said to conquer all
bloodless and steel-eyed
adversaries and fears.

But,
we're both so weak
and, like anything that breaths,
we wither with ease.

Wrapped in mortal flesh,
and forceablely bound
to growth and decay,
we wander separately each day
in a panoramic labyrinth of grey
that cares not for the different ways
we blindly stumble and sway.

I know
I’m no Daedalus
or fearless hero with a memorable name.
I’ve just grown to see,
in my circular trips past brimstone walls,
I don't know what anything will bring
and I would die or fall to my knees
if not for the guiding tie
connecting my heart
to someone who knows as little as me.

So, despite my worries,
I have to assure you:
this string’s eternal
and too timeless to lose.
I promise,
despite my thoughtlessness,
our beats will never end.
You can believe for me.
If you promise,
I’ll learn to believe for you.