Brainheart

Band-aids fall off

when heat makes temperature rise.

20 degrees above reality, thoughts

pouring out from the freshly-opened

wound.

I reach

for the pills but they’re not quick

release. Head still feels

like sad. Music

makes memories glisten

in the mirror as I stare at the stranger

I have become.

Band-aids are temporary, but

stitches leave scars.

I yearn for Permanence.

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