on a world;

Like threads of different heartstrings, I collect words, thoughts, glances. jealously, privately. stuffing these threads into pebbles i put them under my tongue. heavyweight worlds, tinkling together in my mouth. end of the day and i am on a train. cheeks bulging with someones heartbreak, fists and pockets and stomach overflowing with my teacher's melancholy, and how much he hates his job and himself. out of the seams of my head spill densely coloured threads of your overpacked thoughts and your glances turn the ends of each string gold, pale silver. and every night, i yank out my hair, let my mouth cry out little stones, empty my stomach for some teacher, for some lover. on paper. i do not sleep. the freckles under the color of your eyes that i do not know of are begging to be reconstructed. i am an apprentice, gluing my guts into words and, by the time a cloud shyly reaches for the sun i have stitched another heart of mine.