Have been ripped out
One by one
My butterfly heart
Had his wings plucked off
And now he rolls
Everywhere.
I don't fly anymore.
Flights of fancy
have been canceled,
And all unnecessary smiles
Nixed.
I wake up with an anvil
On my chest,
And I put it into my bag
Just so that I can carry on.
I feel like a zombie
In living skin
Very confused,
Because zombies are used
to being dead;
I don't know where this life comes from.
Somehow even without my veins
my heart is beating.
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