Poem: With You, A Slow Burn

[sherlockian_syn]

Poison pumping
from the valves in your heart.
One. Two. Three. Four.

Take your pulse,
count away sixty more seconds.
This disease
found a home
in your blood.

It’s called love,
but it’s never that simple,
is it?

Lining the walls
of your arteries,
clogging your brain
with the aneurysm
that will eventually
break your heart too.
The rest of the body
will follow.

Until then, watch.
You will forget pain,
but maybe you will remember
that words always hurt.
Don’t believe those
nursery rhyme riddles.

One day, you will stare
into those eyes, his eyes
her eyes
and realize there is nothing left.
Sometimes the bridges beg
to be burned.