the state of things

bleeding heart

disgusted and displaced
grubby fingernails scraping
cheeks far too often turned away
until they are blotched and swollen,
hair unhung, awry, indifferent
to the shape of a mouth
or the taste of blood;
and eyes–most definitely
–closed
until with a stricken bang and
burst of floodlight
their blue-green-brown wariness is
startlingly revealed for
a world which has already
turned its back
to see.

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