Original article posted by BlackLily:
My heart wields a sledgehammer,
it threatens to pound its way out.
I suppose it’s in need of a better host body,
this one so often lets it get broken.
What it really wants is to be a candle,
to heat, to glow, to burn.
A slow burn, like incense.
My blood smells of sandalwood
and struck matches.
My heart is the fuming, incandescent tip of a cigarette.