the long and loping ache
of the seizing loop called 
Aorta 
crimped by a lifetime 
of sacrifice to the dogs
of electrochemistry: 
wrung beats from the feverish sweat
of bedmates and 
those kinds of friendships that die in shared smoke
Rising: fragile broken birds
whose abalone pieces remain
imprinted christmases on my blood 
trading one tether for another
to let loose and limp 
the warm traumas of a liquid innocence
second-best when bought

and my ailing heart reminds: 
it wasn't all for naught

breathing 
short and hollow 
from the hallowed zenith 
halted, a trickling fingertip away 
from what life could've been
(Or at least what it could've felt like)