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Revive my heart.
Rescue it
from the downward spiral
it’s been taking,
chasing waterfalls and
taking on
much higher risks
than it’s prepared for:
a crash waiting to happen.
Reckless night
after reckless night
of drunken decisions
tumble into hangovers
and tattoos of names
all over its arms
in tribal script
that look cool, but
turn into just another
trophy of ugliness
faster than
the needle stabs
could heal.

Please,
pull my heart
by its tangled hair
if you have to,
and drag it out
of the house of vice
owned by stray guilts
where it’s been
spending time lately,
surrounded by lost souls
who don’t care whom they hurt.
Bring my heart somewhere
it can be rehabilitated
and put it back
on the track of
meaningful choices
because it’s lost its way
traversing life’s alleys
on its search for love
and got mixed up
in the wrong crowd

and a time might come
when my vision clouds over
and I’ll no longer be able
to see you
and the light that surrounds you
and the warmth that you carry
wanting to save me
so do it now
while you still can
grab me from this sooty fire
of the incinerator
of somebody’s forgotten basement
where people in the street
chuck empty boxes
and plastic things
they no longer want

lift my heart up
in your arms
and remind it
of the kind of sunshine
I used to wake up to
after Kensington Gardens picnic dreams,
and blot out
the harsh, unwelcome light
that lays to waste
my wide-eyed troubled nights.

I’ve denounced pride and
shamelessly concede
that I need help
badly enough to
put this plea out there.
So I hijacked this tower
to broadcast this message
and hope it reaches you
wherever you are,

whoever you are.
.

curledup
.
“Hazy” by photographer Grace Adams

.

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