Torn

She sleeps on my lungs.

She plays on my rib cage.

She eats from my heart.

In the sinews of a ghost

lie stories I want to know.

In the rivers of irises

swim loves I want to feel.

But when I begin to walk,

she puts anchors on my heel.

I hear the wind whistle by.

I want to do that, too.

I see birds and they fly.

I wonder how they do.

But when I look up there,

my brain she begins to tear.

I don’t fly

or whistle

or walk.

She tells me there’s far more

than I can imagine within.

She tells me I can’t see her world

but I couldn’t dare go without.

My mind’s a little torn

but sometimes I think one day

I’ll tear her up, too

and then it’ll be okay.

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