my poems are all autopsies,
but rarely postmortem,
every pen scratch the slow strangling of some fragment begging for mercy,
while a new fraction is agonizingly birthed in its place,
innocently awaiting its white-gloved examination
Heart Breathings
"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." William Wordsworth
Heart Breathings 
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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