My Heart

My heart is sleek, sticky, highly vicious like freshly poured asphalt.
What once was a beating red organ pumping blood through my veins,
now a black carcass spilling ink onto a page.
My insides stick together
the only living thing is the dull fire in my belly ready to rise
In a furious fight that is
i find
meaningless, but not over.
lifting myself from the steaming bathwater
The blood rushes under the surface of my skin
determination outweighs the longing
What felt like a life ending was now paint pouring from my fingertips
My will to dance forward, singing inconsistent melodies, picking yellow flowers
has really helped me.