My heart hunkers like a rabid stray in a kind of solemn starvation.
It is delirious and pregnant with hunger.
It wanders aimlessly beneath a sky of voluptuous constellations.
Quietly resenting the moon’s ability to change the tides.
It waits for fate to demonstrate some kind of charity.
For a respite from a marriage crumbling.
A temporary oasis in a stubborn desert of discontent.
It inhale’s failure.
It exhale’s in minor scale.
It ponders a dawn that isn’t steeped in unearned injury.
It creaks like the doors of a house in disrepair.
Cherished only by the phantom’s of its own imagination.
It comforts itself in hours of terrible loneliness.
Stranded by vows.
Foolish to believe that tolerance is the legacy of martyr’s.
That neglect is enough.
It lies as a means to survive.
Refusing to see that bare minimum’s only satiate a purgatory of invisibility.
It eyes an inherited kingdom of slaughtered possibilities.
It cries with a lingering desperation.
Until the cravings cave itself in.
a. duncan, 2018