it keeps getting darker
because more of the lightbulbs in my bedroom
have burst and the words “this
is how it ends” won’t stop
echoing in my head. i’ve been thinking
about how the rhythm we speak in
is the same as a heartbeat
except heartbeats are
butterflies and boys with cute smiles and
sometimes deep brown eyes but
i didn’t mean to start talking about a boy it just
slips out sometimes. what i meant to say
is that hearts are never lamp posts,
and he was never the light
hearts are your broken headlights you keep meaning to get fixed
but never get around to
and mine
is a candle
with an untouched wick,
ready to burn indefinitely,
and sometimes it’s
that one stop sign i forget to stop at, always
driving through. so teach me how
to say no. teach me how
to cover my wounds with a bandaid. teach me how
to remember that my heart is a magnet–
no, super glue, and
scissors
are the only path to detachment.